ITGiN 


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ETHAN    FROME 


ETHAN    FROME 

BY 

EDITH    WHARTON 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

IfClfXI 


COPYRIGHT,    1911,    BY   CHARLES   SCRIBNER*S   SONS 


Published  October.  1911 


ETHAN   FROME 


ETHAN  FROME 

1HAD  the  story,  bit  by  bit,  from  various  people, 
and,  as  generally  happens  in  such  cases,  each 
time  it  was  a  different  story. 

If  you  know  Starkfield,  Massachusetts,  you  know 
the  post-office.  If  you  know  the  post-office  you  must 
have  seen  Ethan  Frome  drive  up  to  it,  drop  the 
reins  on  his  hollow-backed  bay  and  drag  himself 
across  the  brick  pavement  to  the  white  colonnade; 
and  you  must  have  asked  who  he  was. 

It  was  there  that,  several  years  ago,  I  saw  him 
for  the  first  time;  and  the  sight  pulled  me  up  sharp. 
Even  then  he  was  the  most  striking  figure  in  Stark- 
field,  though  he  was  but  the  ruin  of  a  man.  It  was 
not  so  much  his  great  height  that  marked  him,  for 
the  "  natives "  were  easily  singled  out  by  their  lank 
longitude  from  the  stockier  foreign  breed:  it  was 
the  careless  powerful  look  he  had,  in  spite  of  a 

[3] 


ETHAN  FROME 

lameness  checking  each  step  like  the  jerk  of  a  chain. 
There  was  something  bleak  and  unapproachable  in 
his  face,  and  he  was  so  stiffened  and  grizzled  that 
I  took  him  for  an  old  man  and  was  surprised  to  hear 
that  he  was  not  more  than  fifty-two.  I  had  this 
from  Harmon  Gow,  who  had  driven  the  stage  from 
Bettsbridge  to  Starkfield  in  pre-trolley  days  and 
knew  the  chronicle  of  all  the  families  on  his  line. 

"He's  looked  that  way  ever  since  he  had  his 
smash-up;  and  that's  twenty-four  years  ago  come 
next  February,"  Harmon  threw  out  between  rem- 
iniscent pauses. 

The  "smash-up"  it  was — I  gathered  from  the 
same  informant — which,  besides  drawing  the  red 
gash  across  Ethan  Frome's  forehead,  had  so  short- 
ened and  warped  his  right  side  that  it  cost  him  a 
visible  effort  to  take  the  few  steps  from  his  buggy 
to  the  post-office  window.  He  used  to  drive  in  from 
his  farm  every  day  at  about  noon,  and  as  that  was 
my  own  hour  for  fetching  my  mail  I  often  passed 
him  in  the  porch  or  stood  beside  him  while  we 
waited  on  the  motions  of  the  distributing  hand  be- 
[4] 


ETHAN  FROME 

hind  the  grating.  I  noticed  that,  though  he  came  so 
punctually,  he  seldom  received  anything  but  a  copy 
of  the  Bettsbridge  Eagle,  which  he  put  without  a 
glance  into  his  sagging  pocket.  At  intervals,  how- 
ever, the  post-master  would  hand  him  an  envelope 
addressed  to  Mrs.  Zenobia — or  Mrs.  Zeena — 
Frome,  and  usually  bearing  conspicuously  in  the 
upper  left-hand  corner  the  address  of  some  manu- 
facturer of  patent  medicine  and  the  name  of  his 
specific.  These  documents  my  neighbour  would  also 
pocket  without  a  glance,  as  if  too  much  used  to 
them  to  wonder  at  their  number  and  variety,  and 
would  then  turn  away  with  a  silent  nod  to  the  post- 
master. 

Every  one  in  Starkfield  knew  him  and  gave  him 
a  greeting  tempered  to  his  own  grave  mien;  but  his 
taciturnity  was  respected  and  it  was  only  on  rare 
occasions  that  one  of  the  older  men  of  the  place 
detained  him  for  a  word.  When  this  happened  he 
would  listen  quietly,  his  blue  eyes  on  the  speaker's 
face,  and  answer  in  so  low  a  tone  that  his  words 
never  reached  me;  then  he  would  climb  stiffly  into 
[5] 


ETHAN  FROME 

his  buggy,  gather  up  the  reins  in  his  left  hand  and 
drive  slowly  away  in  the  direction  of  his  farm. 

"  It  was  a  pretty  bad  smash-up  ? "  I  questioned 
Harmon,  looking  after  Frome's  retreating  figure,  and 
thinking  how  gallantly  his  lean  brown  head,  with 
its  shock  of  light  hair,  must  have  sat  on  his  strong 
shoulders  before  they  were  bent  out  of  shape. 

"Wust  kind,"  my  informant  assented.  "More'n 
enough  to  kill  most  men.  But  the  Fromes  are  tough. 
Ethan'll  likely  touch  a  hundred." 

"Good  God!"  I  exclaimed.  At  the  moment 
Ethan  Frome,  after  climbing  to  his  seat,  had  leaned 
over  to  assure  himself  of  the  security  of  a  wooden 
box — also  with  a  druggist's  label  on  it — which  he 
had  placed  in  the  back  of  the  buggy,  and  I  saw  his 
face  as  it  probably  looked  when  he  thought  himself 
alone.  "  That  man  touch  a  hundred  ?  He  looks  as  if 
he  was  dead  and  in  hell  now!" 

Harmon  drew  a  slab  of  tobacco  from  his  pocket, 
cut  off  a  wedge  and  pressed  it  into  the  leather  pouch 
of  his  cheek.  "Guess  he's  been  in  Starkfield  too 
many  winters.  Most  of  the  smart  ones  get  away." 
[6] 


ETHAN  FROME 

"Why  didn't  he?" 

"Somebody  had  to  stay  and  care  for  the  folks. 
There  warn't  ever  anybody  but  Ethan.  Fust  his 
father — then  his  mother — then  his  wife." 

"And  then  the  smash-up?" 

Harmon  chuckled  sardonically.  "That's  so.  He 
had  to  stay  then." 

"I  see.  And  since  then  they've  had  to  care  for 
him?" 

Harmon  thoughtfully  passed  his  tobacco  to  the 
other  cheek.  "Oh,  as  to  that:  I  guess  it's  always 
Ethan  done  the  caring." 

Though  Harmon  Gow  developed  the  tale  as  far 
as  his  mental  and  moral  reach  permitted  there  were 
perceptible  gaps  between  his  facts,  and  I  had  the 
sense  that  the  deeper  meaning  of  the  story  was  in 
the  gaps.  But  one  phrase  stuck  in  my  memory  and 
served  as  the  nucleus  about  which  I  grouped  my 
subsequent  inferences :  "  Guess  he's  been  in  Stark- 
field  too  many  winters." 

Before  my  own  time  there  was  up  I  had  learned 
to  know  what  that  meant.  Yet  I  had  come  in  the 
[7] 


ETHAN  FROME 

degenerate  day  of  trolley,  bicycle  and  rural  de- 
livery, when  communication  was  easy  between  the 
scattered  mountain  villages,  and  the  bigger  towns 
in  the  valleys,  such  as  Bettsbridge  and  Shadd's 
Falls,  had  libraries,  theatres  and  Y.  M.  C.  A.  halls 
to  which  the  youth  of  the  hills  could  descend  for 
recreation.  But  when  winter  shut  down  on  Stark- 
field,  and  the  village  lay  under  a  sheet  of  snow  per- 
petually renewed  from  the  pale  skies,  I  began  to 
see  what  life  there — or  rather  its  negation — must 
have  been  in  Ethan  Frome's  young  manhood. 

I  had  been  sent  up  by  my  employers  on  a  job 
connected  with  the  big  power-house  at  Corbury 
Junction,  and  a  long-drawn  carpenters'  strike  had 
so  delayed  the  work  that  I  found  myself  anchored 
at  Starkfield — the  nearest  habitable  spot — for  the 
best  part  of  the  winter.  I  chafed  at  first,  and  then, 
under  the  hypnotising  effect  of  routine,  gradually 
began  to  find  a  grim  satisfaction  in  the  life.  During 
the  early  part  of  my  stay  I  had  been  struck  by  the 
contrast  between  the  vitality  of  the  climate  and  the 
deadness  of  the  community.  Day  by  day,  after  the 

[8] 


ETHAN  FROME 

December  snows  were  over,  a  blazing  blue  sky 
poured  down  torrents  of  light  and  air  on  the  white 
landscape,  which  gave  them  back  in  an  intenser 
glitter.  One  would  have  supposed  that  such  an  at- 
mosphere must  quicken  the  emotions  as  well  as  the 
blood;  but  it  seemed  to  produce  no  change  except 
that  of  retarding  still  more  the  sluggish  pulse  of 
Starkfield.  When  I  had  been  there  a  little  longer, 
and  had  seen  this  phase  of  crystal  clearness  followed 
by  long  stretches  of  sunless  cold;  when  the  storms 
of  February  had  pitched  their  white  tents  about 
the  devoted  village  and  the  wild  cavalry  of  March 
winds  had  charged  down  to  their  support;  I  began 
to  understand  why  Starkfield  emerged  from  its  six 
months'  siege  like  a  starved  garrison  capitulating 
without  quarter.  Twenty  years  earlier  the  means 
of  resistance  must  have  been  far  fewer,  and  the 
enemy  in  command  of  almost  all  the  lines  of  access 
between  the  beleaguered  villages;  and,  considering 
these  things,  I  felt  the  sinister  force  of  Harmon's 
phrase:  "Most  of  the  smart  ones  get  away."  But  if 
that  were  the  case,  how  could  any  combination  of 

[9] 


ETHAN  FROME 

obstacles  have  hindered  the  flight  of  a  man  like 
Ethan  Frome  ? 

During  my  stay  at  Starkfield  I  lodged  with  a 
middle-aged  widow  colloquially  known  as  Mrs. 
Ned  Hale.  Mrs.  Hale's  father  had  been  the  village 
lawyer  of  the  previous  generation,  and  "lawyer 
Varnum's  house,"  where  my  landlady  still  lived 
with  her  mother,  was  the  most  considerable  man- 
sion in  the  village.  It  stood  at  one  end  of  the  main 
street,  its  classic  portico  and  small-paned  windows 
looking  down  a  flagged  path  between  Norway 
spruces  to  the  slim  white  steeple  of  the  Congrega- 
tional church.  It  was  clear  that  the  Varnum  for- 
tunes were  at  the  ebb,  but  the  two  women  did  what 
they  could  to  preserve  a  decent  dignity;  and  Mrs. 
Hale,  in  particular,  had  a  certain  wan  refinement 
not  out  of  keeping  with  her  pale  old-fashioned 
house. 

In  the  "best  parlour,"  with  its  black  horse-hair 

and  mahogany  weakly  illuminated  by  a  gurgling 

Carcel  lamp,  I  listened  every  evening  to  another 

and  more  delicately  shaded  version  of  the  Stark- 

[10] 


ETHAN  FROME 

field  chronicle.  It  was  not  that  Mrs.  Ned  Hale 
felt,  or  affected,  any  social  superiority  to  the  people 
about  her;  it  was  only  that  the  accident  of  a  finer 
sensibility  and  a  little  more  education  had  put  just 
enough  distance  between  herself  and  her  neigh- 
bours to  enable  her  to  judge  them  with  detachment. 
She  was  not  unwilling  to  exercise  this  faculty,  and 
I  had  great  hopes  of  getting  from  her  the  missing 
facts  of  Ethan  Frome's  story,  or  rather  such  a  key  to 
his  character  as  should  co-ordinate  the  facts  I  knew. 
Her  mind  was  a  store-house  of  innocuous  anecdote 
and  any  question  about  her  acquaintances  brought 
forth  a  volume  of  detail;  but  on  the  subject  of 
Ethan  Frome  I  found  her  unexpectedly  reticent. 
There  was  no  hint  of  disapproval  in  her  reserve;  I 
merely  felt  in  her  an  insurmountable  reluctance  to 
speak  of  him  or  his  affairs,  a  low  "  Yes,  I  knew  them 
both  ...  it  was  awful  .  .  ."  seeming  to  be  the 
utmost  concession  that  her  distress  could  make  to 
my  curiosity. 

So  marked  was  the  change  in  her  manner,  such 
depths  of  sad  initiation  did  it  imply,  that,  with 

[in 


ETHAN  FROME 

some  doubts  as  to  my  delicacy,  I  put  the  case  anew 
to  my  village  oracle,  Harmon  Gow;  but  got  for 
my  pains  only  an  uncomprehending  grunt. 

"Ruth  Varnum  was  always  as  nervous  as  a  rat; 
and,  come  to  think  of  it,  she  was  the  first  one  to  see 
'em  after  they  was  picked  up.  It  happened  right 
below  lawyer  Varnum's,  down  at  the  bend  of  the 
Corbury  road,  just  round  about  the  time  that 
Ruth  got  engaged  to  Ned  Hale.  The  young  folks 
was  all  friends,  and  I  guess  she  just  can't  bear 
to  talk  about  it.  She's  had  troubles  enough  of 
her  own." 

All  the  dwellers  in  Starkfield,  as  in  more  notable 
communities,  had  had  troubles  enough  of  their 
own  to  make  them  comparatively  indifferent  to 
those  of  their  neighbours ;  and  though  all  conceded 
that  Ethan  Frome's  had  been  beyond  the  common 
measure,  no  one  gave  me  an  explanation  of  the 
look  in  his  face  which,  as  I  persisted  in  thinking, 
neither  poverty  nor  physical  suffering  could  have 
put  there.  Nevertheless,  I  might  have  contented 
myself  with  the  story  pieced  together  from  these 


ETHAN  FROME 

hints  had  it  not  been  for  the  provocation  of  Mrs. 
Bale's  silence,  and — a  little  later — for  the  accident 
of  personal  contact  with  the  man. 

On  my  arrival  at  Starkfield,  Denis  Eady,  the  rich 
Irish  grocer,  who  was  the  proprietor  of  Starkfield's 
nearest  approach  to  a  livery  stable,  had  entered  into 
an  agreement  to  send  me  over  daily  to  Corbury 
Flats,  where  I  had  to  pick  up  my  train  for  the 
Junction.  But  about  the  middle  of  the  winter 
Eady's  horses  fell  ill  of  a  local  epidemic.  The  ill- 
ness spread  to  the  other  Starkfield  stables  and  for 
a  day  or  two  I  was  put  to  it  to  find  a  means  of 
transport.  Then  Harmon  Gow  suggested  that 
Ethan  Frome's  bay  was  still  on  his  legs  and  that 
his  owner  might  be  glad  to  drive  me  over. 

I  stared  at  the  suggestion.  "Ethan  Frome?  But 
I've  never  even  spoken  to  him.  Why  on  earth  should 
he  put  himself  out  for  me?" 

Harmon's  answer  surprised  me  still  more.  "I 
don't  know  as  he  would;  but  I  know  he  wouldn't 
be  sorry  to  earn  a  dollar." 

I  had  been  told  that  Frome  was  poor,  and  that 
[13] 


ETHAN  FROME 

the  saw-mill  and  the  arid  acres  of  his  farm  yielded 
scarcely  enough  to  keep  his  household  through  the 
winter;  but  I  had  not  supposed  him  to  be  in  such 
want  as  Harmon's  words  implied,  and  I  expressed 
my  wonder. 

"Well,  matters  ain't  gone  any  too  well  with 
him,"  Harmon  said.  "When  a  man's  been  setting 
round  like  a  hulk  for  twenty  years  or  more,  seeing 
things  that  want  doing,  it  eats  inter  him,  and  he 
loses  his  grit.  That  Frome  farm  was  always  'bout 
as  bare's  a  milkpan  when  the  cat's  been  round;  and 
you  know  what  one  of  them  old  water-mills  is  wuth 
nowadays.  When  Ethan  could  sweat  over  'em  both 
from  sun-up  to  dark  he  kinder  choked  a  living  out 
of  'em;  but  his  folks  ate  up  most  everything,  even 
then,  and  I  don't  see  how  he  makes  out  now.  Fust 
his  father  got  a  kick,  out  haying,  and  went  soft  in 
the  brain,  and  gave  away  money  like  Bible  texts 
afore  he  died.  Then  his  mother  got  queer  and 
dragged  along  for  years  as  weak  as  a  baby;  and  his 
wife  Zeena,  she's  always  been  the  greatest  hand  at 
doctoring  in  the  county.  Sickness  and  trouble :  that's 
[14] 


ETHAN  FROME 

what  Ethan's  had  his  plate  full  up  with,  ever  since 
the  very  first  helping." 

The  next  morning,  when  I  looked  out,  I  saw  the 
hollow-backed  bay  between  the  Varnum  spruces, 
and  Ethan  Frome,  throwing  back  his  worn  bear- 
skin, made  room  for  me  in  the  sleigh  at  his  side. 
After  that,  for  a  week,  he  drove  me  over  every 
morning  to  Corbury  Flats,  and  on  my  return  in 
the  afternoon  met  me  again  and  carried  me  back 
through  the  icy  night  to  Starkfield.  The  distance 
each  way  was  barely  three  miles,  but  the  old  bay's 
pace  was  slow,  and  even  with  firm  snow  under 
the  runners  we  were  nearly  an  hour  on  the  way. 
Ethan  Frome  drove  in  silence,  the  reins  loosely  held 
in  his  left  hand,  his  brown  seamed  profile,  under 
the  helmet-like  peak  of  the  cap,  relieved  against  the 
banks  of  snow  like  the  bronze  image  of  a  hero. 
He  never  turned  his  face  to  mine,  or  answered,  ex- 
cept in  monosyllables,  the  questions  I  put,  or  such 
slight  pleasantries  as  I  ventured.  He  seemed  a  part 
of  the  mute  melancholy  landscape,  an  incarnation 
of  its  frozen  woe,  with  all  that  was  warm  and  sen- 
[15] 


ETHAN  FROME 

tient  in  him  fast  bound  below  the  surface ;  but  there 
was  nothing  unfriendly  in  his  silence.  I  simply  felt 
that  he  lived  in  a  depth  of  moral  isolation  too  re- 
mote for  casual  access,  and  I  had  the  sense  that 
his  loneliness  was  not  merely  the  result  of  his  per- 
sonal plight,  tragic  as  I  guessed  that  to  be,  but  had 
in  it,  as  Harmon  Gow  had  hinted,  the  profound  ac- 
cumulated cold  of  many  Starkfield  winters. 

Only  once  or  twice  was  the  distance  between  us 
bridged  for  a  moment;  and  the  glimpses  thus  gained 
confirmed  my  desire  to  know  more.  Once  I  hap- 
pened to  speak  of  an  engineering  job  I  had  been 
on  the  previous  year  in  Florida,  and  of  the  con- 
trast between  the  winter  landscape  about  us  and 
that  in  which  I  had  found  myself  the  year  before; 
and  to  my  surprise  Frome  said  suddenly:  "Yes: 
I  was  down  there  once,  and  for  a  good  while  after- 
ward I  could  call  up  the  sight  of  it  in  winter.  But 
now  it's  all  snowed  under." 

He  said  no  more,  and  I  had  to  guess  the  rest 
from  the  inflection  of  his  voice  and  his  sharp 
relapse  into  silence. 

[16] 


ETHAN  FROME 

Another  day,  on  getting  into  my  train  at  the  Flats, 
I  missed  a  volume  of  popular  science — I  think  it  was 
on  some  recent  discoveries  in  bio-chemistry — which 
I  had  carried  with  me  to  read  on  the  way.  I  thought 
no  more  about  it  till  I  got  into  the  sleigh  again  that 
evening,  and  saw  the  book  in  Frome's  hand. 

"I  found  it  after  you  were  gone,"  he  said. 

I  put  the  volume  into  my  pocket  and  we  dropped 
back  into  our  usual  silence;  but  as  we  began  to 
crawl  up  the  long  hill  from  Corbury  Flats  to  the 
Starkfield  ridge  I  became  aware  in  the  dusk  that 
he  had  turned  his  face  to  mine. 

"There  are  things  in  that  book  that  I  didn't 
know  the  first  word  about,"  he  said. 

I  wondered  less  at  his  words  than  at  the  queer 
note  of  resentment  in  his  voice.  He  was  evidently 
surprised  and  slightly  aggrieved  at  his  own  igno- 
rance. 

"  Does  that  sort  of  thing  interest  you  ?"  I  asked. 

"It  used  to." 

"There  are  one  or  two  rather  new  things  in  the 
book:  there  have  been  some  big  strides  lately  in 
[  17] 


ETHAN  FROME 

that  particular  line  of  research."  I  waited  a  moment 
for  an  answer  that  did  not  come;  then  I  said:  "If 
you'd  like  to  look  the  book  through  I'd  be  glad  to 
leave  it  with  you." 

He  hesitated,  and  I  had  the  impression  that  he 
felt  himself  about  to  yield  to  a  stealing  tide  of  iner- 
tia; then,  "Thank  you — Til  take  it,"  he  answered 
shortly. 

I  hoped  that  this  incident  might  set  up  some 
more  direct  communication  between  us.  Frome  was 
so  simple  and  straightforward  that  I  was  sure  his 
curiosity  about  the  book  was  based  on  a  genuine 
interest  in  its  subject.  Such  tastes  and  acquire- 
ments in  a  man  of  his  condition  made  the  contrast 
more  poignant  between  his  outer  situation  and  his 
inner  needs,  and  I  hoped  that  the  chance  of  giving 
expression  to  the  latter  might  at  least  unseal  his 
lips.  But  something  in  his  past  history,  or  in  his 
present  way  of  living,  had  apparently  driven  him 
too  deeply  into  himself  for  any  casual  impulse  to 
draw  him  back  to  his  kind.  At  our  next  meeting  he 
made  no  allusion  to  the  book,  and  our  intercourse 
[18] 


ETHAN  FROME 

seemed  fated  to  remain  as  negative  and  one-sided 
as  if  there  had  been  no  break  in  his  reserve. 

Frome  had  been  driving  me  over  to  the  Flats 
for  about  a  week  when  one  morning  I  looked  out  of 
my  window  into  a  thick  snow-fall.  The  height  of  the 
white  waves  massed  against  the  garden-fence  and 
along  the  wall  of  the  church  showed  that  the  storm 
must  have  been  going  on  all  night,  and  that  the 
drifts  were  likely  to  be  heavy  in  the  open.  I  thought 
it  probable  that  my  train  would  be  delayed;  but  I 
had  to  be  at  the  power-house  for  an  hour  or  two 
that  afternoon,  and  I  decided,  if  Frome  turned  up, 
to  push  through  to  the  Flats  and  wait  there  till 
my  train  came  in.  I  don't  know  why  I  put  it  in 
the  conditional,  however,  for  I  never  doubted  that 
Frome  would  appear.  He  was  not  the  kind  of  man 
to  be  turned  from  his  business  by  any  commotion  of 
the  elements;  and  at  the  appointed  hour  his  sleigh 
glided  up  through  the  snow  like  a  stage-apparition 
behind  thickening  veils  of  gauze. 

I  was  getting  to  know  him  too  well  to  express 
either  wonder  or  gratitude  at  his  keeping  his  ap- 

[19] 


ETHAN  FROME 

pointment;  but  I  exclaimed  in  surprise  as  I  saw 
him  turn  his  horse  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that 
of  the  Corbury  road. 

"The  railroad's  blocked  by  a  freight-train  that 
got  stuck  in  a  drift  below  the  Flats,"  he  explained, 
as  we  jogged  off  into  the  stinging  whiteness. 

"But  look  here — where  are  you  taking  me, 
then?" 

"Straight  to  the  Junction,  by  the  shortest  way," 
he  answered,  pointing  up  School  House  Hill  with 
his  whip. 

"To  the  Junction — in  this  storm?  Why,  it's  a 
good  ten  miles!" 

"The  bay'll  do  it  if  you  give  him  time.  You  said 
you  had  some  business  there  this  afternoon.  I'll 
see  you  get  there." 

He  said  it  so  quietly  that  I  could  only  answer: 
"  You're  doing  me  the  biggest  kind  of  a  favour." 

"That's  all  right,"  he  rejoined. 

Abreast  of  the  schoolhouse  the  road  forked,  and 
we  dipped  down  a  lane  to  the  left,  between  hem- 
lock boughs  bent  inward  to  their  trunks  by  the 
[20] 


ETHAN  FROME 

weight  of  the  snow.  I  had  often  walked  that  way 
on  Sundays,  and  knew  that  the  solitary  roof  show- 
ing through  bare  branches  near  the  bottom  of  the 
hill  was  that  of  Frome's  saw-mill.  It  looked  exani- 
mate enough,  with  its  idle  wheel  looming  above  the 
black  stream  dashed  with  yellow-white  spume,  and 
its  cluster  of  sheds  sagging  under  their  white  load. 
Frome  did  not  even  turn  his  head  as  we  drove  by, 
and  still  in  silence  we  began  to  mount  the  next 
slope.  About  a  mile  farther,  on  a  road  I  had  never 
travelled,  we  came  to  an  orchard  of  starved  apple- 
trees  writhing  over  a  hillside  among  outcroppings 
of  slate  that  nuzzled  up  through  the  snow  like  ani- 
mals pushing  out  their  noses  to  breathe.  Beyond  the 
orchard  lay  a  field  or  two,  their  boundaries  lost 
under  drifts;  and  above  the  fields,  huddled  against 
the  white  immensities  of  land  and  sky,  one  of 
those  lonely  New  England  farm-houses  that  make 
the  landscape  lonelier. 

"That's  my  place,"  said  Frome,  with  a  sideway 
jerk  of   his  lame  elbow;  and    in  the  distress  and 
oppression  of  the  scene  I  did  not  know  what  to 
[21] 


ETHAN  FROME 

answer.  The  snow  had  ceased,  and  a  flash  of  watery 
sunlight  exposed  the  house  on  the  slope  above  us  in 
all  its  plaintive  ugliness.  The  black  wraith  of  a 
deciduous  creeper  flapped  from  the  porch,  and  the 
thin  wooden  walls,  under  their  worn  coat  of  paint, 
seemed  to  shiver  in  the  wind  that  had  risen  with 
the  ceasing  of  the  snow. 

"The  house  was  bigger  in  my  father's  time:  I 
had  to  take  down  the  *L,'  a  while  back,"  Frome 
continued,  checking  with  a  twitch  of  the  left  rein 
the  bay's  evident  intention  of  turning  in  through 
the  broken-down  gate. 

I  saw  then  that  the  unusually  forlorn  and  stunted 
look  of  the  house  was  partly  due  to  the  loss  of  what 
is  known  in  New  England  as  the  "L":  that  long 
deep-roofed  adjunct  usually  built  at  right  angles  to 
the  main  house,  and  connecting  it,  by  way  of  store- 
rooms and  tool-house,  with  the  wood-shed  and  cow- 
barn.  Whether  because  of  its  symbolic  sense,  the 
image  it  presents  of  a  life  linked  with  the  soil,  and 
enclosing  in  itself  the  chief  sources  of  warmth  and 
nourishment,  or  whether  merely  because  of  the  con- 
[22] 


ETHAN  FROME 

solatory  thought  that  it  enables  the  dwellers  in  that 
harsh  climate  to  get  to  their  morning's  work  without 
facing  the  weather,  it  is  certain  that  the  "  L  "  rather 
than  the  house  itself  seems  to  be  the  centre,  the 
actual  hearth-stone,  of  the  New  England  farm. 
Perhaps  this  connection  of  ideas,  which  had  often 
occurred  to  me  in  my  rambles  about  Starkfield, 
caused  me  to  hear  a  wistful  note  in  Frome's  words, 
and  to  see  in  the  diminished  dwelling  the  image  of 
his  own  shrunken  body. 

"  We're  kinder  side-tracked  here  now,"  he  added, 
"  but  there  was  considerable  passing  before  the  rail- 
road was  carried  through  to  the  Flats."  He  roused 
the  lagging  bay  with  another  twitch;  then,  as  if 
the  mere  sight  of  the  house  had  let  me  too  deeply 
into  his  confidence  for  any  farther  pretence  of  re- 
serve, he  went  on  slowly:  "I've  always  set  down 
the  worst  of  mother's  trouble  to  that.  When  she  got 
the  rheumatism  so  bad  she  couldn't  move  around 
she  used  to  sit  up  there  and  watch  the  road  by  the 
hour;  and  one  year,  when  they  was  six  months 
mending  the  Bettsbridge  pike  after  the  floods,  and 
[23] 


ETHAN  FROME 

Harmon  Gow  had  to  bring  his  stage  round  this 
way,  she  picked  up  so  that  she  used  to  get  down 
to  the  gate  most  days  to  see  him.  But  after  the 
trains  begun  running  nobody  ever  come  by  here 
to  speak  of,  and  mother  never  could  get  it  through 
her  head  what  had  happened,  and  it  preyed  on  her 
right  along  till  she  died." 

As  we  turned  into  the  Corbury  road  the  snow 
began  to  fall  again,  cutting  off  our  last  glimpse  of 
the  house;  and  Frome's  silence  fell  with  it,  letting 
down  between  us  the  old  veil  of  reticence.  This 
time  the  wind  did  not  cease  with  the  return  of  the 
snow.  Instead,  it  sprang  up  to  a  gale  which  now 
and  then,  from  a  tattered  sky,  flung  pale  sweeps 
of  sunlight  over  a  landscape  chaotically  tossed. 
But  the  bay  was  as  good  as  Frome's  word,  and  we 
pushed  on  to  the  Junction  through  the  wild  white 
scene. 

In  the  afternoon  the  storm  held  off,  and  the  clear- 
ness in  the  west  seemed  to  my  inexperienced  eye 
the  pledge  of  a  fair  evening.  I  finished  my  business 
as  quickly  as  possible,  and  we  set  oirt  for  Stark- 
[24] 


ETHAN  FROME 

field  with  a  good  chance  of  getting  there  for  supper. 
But  at  sunset  the  clouds  gathered  again,  bringing 
an  earlier  night,  and  the  snow  began  to  fall  straight 
and  steadily  from  a  sky  without  wind,  in  a  soft 
universal  diffusion  more  confusing  than  the  gusts 
and  eddies  of  the  morning.  It  seemed  to  be  a  part 
of  the  thickening  darkness,  to  be  the  winter  night 
itself  descending  on  us  layer  by  layer. 

The  small  ray  of  Frome's  lantern  was  soon  lost 
in  this  smothering  medium,  in  which  even  his 
sense  of  direction,  and  the  bay's  homing  instinct, 
finally  ceased  to  serve  us.  Two  or  three  times  some 
ghostly  landmark  sprang  up  to  warn  us  that  we 
were  astray,  and  then  was  sucked  back  into  the 
mist;  and  when  we  finally  regained  our  road  the 
old  horse  began  to  show  signs  of  exhaustion.  I  felt 
myself  to  blame  for  having  accepted  Frome's  offer, 
and  after  a  short  discussion  I  persuaded  him  to  let 
me  get  out  of  the  sleigh  and  walk  along  through 
the  snow  at  the  bay's  side.  In  this  way  we  struggled 
on  for  another  mile  or  two,  and  at  last  reached  a 
point  where  Frome,  peering  into  what  seemed  to 
[25] 


ETHAN  FROME 

me  formless  night,  said:  "That's  my  gate  down 
yonder." 

The  last  stretch  had  been  the  hardest  part  of 
the  way.  The  bitter  cold  and  the  heavy  going  had 
nearly  knocked  the  wind  out  of  me,  and  I  could 
feel  the  horse's  side  ticking  like  a  clock  under  my 
hand. 

"Look  here,  Frome,"  I  began,  "there's  no 
earthly  use  in  your  going  any  farther — "  but  he  in- 
terrupted me:  "Nor  you  neither.  There's  been 
about  enough  of  this  for  anybody." 

I  understood  that  he  was  offering  me  a  night's 
shelter  at  the  farm,  and  without  answering  I  turned 
into  the  gate  at  his  side,  and  followed  him  to  the 
barn,  where  I  helped  him  to  unharness  and  bed 
down  the  tired  horse.  When  this  was  done  he  un- 
hooked the  lantern  from  the  sleigh,  stepped  out 
again  into  the  night,  and  called  to  me  over  his 
shoulder:  "This  way." 

Far  off  above  us  a  square  of  light  trembled 
through  the  screen  of  snow.  Staggering  along  in 
Frome's  wake  I  floundered  toward  it,  and  in  the 
[26] 


ETHAN  FROME 

darkness  almost  fell  into  one  of  the  deep  drifts 
against  the  front  of  the  house.  Frome  scrambled 
up  the  slippery  steps  of  the  porch,  digging  a  way 
through  the  snow  with  his  heavily  booted  foot. 
Then  he  lifted  his  lantern,  found  the  latch,  and  led 
the  way  into  the  house.  I  went  after  him  into  a  low 
unlit  passage,  at  the  back  of  which  a  ladder-like 
staircase  rose  into  obscurity.  On  our  right  a  line  of 
light  marked  the  door  of  the  room  which  had  sent 
its  ray  across  the  night;  and  behind  the  door  I 
heard  a  woman's  voice  droning  querulously. 

Frome  stamped  on  the  worn  oil-cloth  to  shake 
the  snow  from  his  boots,  and  set  down  his  lantern 
on  a  kitchen  chair  which  was  the  only  piece  of 
furniture  in  the  hall.  Then  he  opened  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  he  said;  and  as  he  spoke  the  dron- 
ing voice  grew  still.  .  . 

It  was  that  night  that  I  found  the  clue  to  Ethan 
Frome,  and  began  to  put  together  this  vision  of 
his  story 

[27] 


village  lay  under  two  feet  of  snow,  with 
A  drifts  at  the  windy  corners.  In  a  sky  of  iron 
the  points  of  the  Dipper  hung  like  icicles  and  Orion 
flashed  his  cold  fires.  The  moon  had  set,  but  the 
night  was  so  transparent  that  the  white  house- 
fronts  between  the  elms  looked  gray  against  the 
snow,  clumps  of  bushes  made  black  stains  on  it, 
and  the  basement  windows  of  the  church  sent 
shafts  of  yellow  light  far  across  the  endless  undu- 
lations. 

Young  Ethan  Frome  walked  at  a  quick  pace 
along  the  deserted  street,  past  the  bank  and  Mi- 
chael Eady's  new  brick  store  and  Lawyer  Varnum's 
house  with  the  two  black  Norway  spruces  at  the 
gate.  Opposite  the  Varnum  gate,  where  the  road 
fell  away  toward  the  Corbury  valley,  the  church 
reared  its  slim  white  steeple  and  narrow  peristyle. 
As  the  young  man  walked  toward  it  the  upper 
[28] 


ETHAN  FROME 

windows  drew  a  black  arcade  along  the  side  wall  of 
the  building,  but  from  the  lower  openings,  on  the 
side  where  the  ground  sloped  steeply  down  to  the 
Corbury  road,  the  light  shot  its  long  bars,  illumin- 
ating many  fresh  furrows  in  the  track  leading  to 
the  basement  door,  and  showing,  under  an  adjoining 
shed,  a  line  of  sleighs  with  heavily  blanketed  horses. 
The  night  was  perfectly  still,  and  the  air  so  dry 
and  pure  that  it  gave  little  sensation  of  cold.  The 
effect  produced  on  Frome  was  rather  of  a  com- 
plete absence  of  atmosphere,  as  though  nothing  less 
tenuous  than  ether  intervened  between  the  white 
earth  under  his  feet  and  the  metallic  dome  over- 
head. "It's  like  being  in  an  exhausted  receiver,"  he 
thought.  Four  or  five  years  earlier  he  had  taken  a 
year's  course  at  a  technologieal  college  at  Worcester, 
and  dabbled  in  the  laboratory  with  a  friendly  pro- 
fessor of  physics;  and  the  images  supplied  by  that 
experience  still  cropped  up,  at  unexpected  moments, 
through  the  totally  different  associations  of  thought 
in  which  he  had  since  been  living.  His  father's 
death,  and  the  misfortunes  following  it,  had  put  a 
[29] 


ETHAN  FROME 

premature  end  to  Ethan's  studies;  but  though  they 
had  not  gone  far  enough  to  be  of  much  practical 
use  they  had  fed  his  fancy  and  made  him  aware 
of  huge  cloudy  meanings  behind  the  daily  face  of 
things. 

As  he  strode  along  through  the  snow  the  sense  of 
such  meanings  glowed  in  his  brain  and  mingled 
with  the  bodily  flush  produced  by  his  sharp  tramp. 
At  the  end  of  the  village  he  paused  before  the 
darkened  front  of  the  church.  He  stood  there  a 
moment,  breathing  quickly,  and  looking  up  and 
down  the  street,  in  which  not  another  figure  moved. 
The  pitch  of  the  Corbury  road,  below  lawyer  Var- 
num's  spruces,  was  the  favourite  coasting-ground  of 
Starkfield,  and  on  clear  evenings  the  church  corner 
rang  till  late  with  the  shouts  of  the  coasters;  but 
to-night  not  a  sled  darkened  the  whiteness  of  the 
long  declivity.  The  hush  of  midnight  lay  on  the 
village,  and  all  its  waking  life  was  gathered  be- 
hind the  church  windows,  from  which  strains  of 
dance-music  flowed  with  the  broad  bands  of  yel- 
low light. 

[30] 


ETHAN  FROME 

The  young  man,  skirting  the  side  of  the  build- 
ing, went  down  the  slope  toward  the  basement  door. 
To  keep  out  of  range  of  the  revealing  rays  from 
within  he  made  a  circuit  through  the  untrodden 
snow  and  gradually  approached  the  farther  angle 
of  the  basement  wall.  Thence,  still  hugging  the 
shadow,  he  edged  his  way  cautiously  forward  to  the 
nearest  window,  holding  back  his  straight  spare 
body  and  craning  his  neck  till  he  got  a  glimpse  of 
the  room. 

Seen  thus,  from  the  pure  and  frosty  darkness  in 
which  he  stood,  it  seemed  to  be  seething  in  a  mist 
of  heat.  The  metal  reflectors  of  the  gas-jets  sent 
crude  waves  of  light  against  the  whitewashed  walls, 
and  the  iron  flanks  of  the  stove  at  the  end  of  the  hall 
looked  as  though  they  were  heaving  with  volcanic 
fires.  The  floor  was  thronged  with  girls  and  young 
men.  Down  the  side  wall  facing  the  window  stood  a 
row  of  kitchen  chairs  from  which  the  older  women 
had  just  risen.  By  this  time  the  music  had  stopped, 
and  the  musicians — a  fiddler,  and  the  young  lady 
who  played  the  harmonium  on  Sundays — were  has- 
[31] 


ETHAN  FROME 

tily  refreshing  themselves  at  one  corner  of  the  sup- 
per-table which  aligned  its  devastated  pie-dishes  and 
ice-cream  saucers  on  the  platform  at  the  end  of  the 
hall.  The  guests  were  preparing  to  leave,  and  the 
tide  had  already  set  toward  the  passage  where  coats 
and  wraps  were  hung,  when  a  young  man  with  a 
sprightly  foot  and  a  shock  of  black  hair  shot  into 
the  middle  of  the  floor  and  clapped  his  hands.  The 
signal  took  instant  effect.  The  musicians  hurried  to 
their  instruments,  the  dancers — some  already  half- 
mufHed  for  departure — fell  into  line  down  each  side 
of  the  room,  the  older  spectators  slipped  back  to 
their  chairs,  and  the  lively  young  man,  after  diving 
about  here  and  there  in  the  throng,  drew  forth  a 
girl  who  had  already  wound  a  cherry-coloured  "  fas- 
cinator" about  her  head,  and,  leading  her  up  to  the 
end  of  the  floor,  whirled  her  down  its  length  to 
the  bounding  tune  of  a  Virginia  reel. 

Frome's  heart  was  beating  fast.  He  had  been 

straining  for  a  glimpse  of  the  dark  head  under  the 

cherry-coloured  scarf  and  it  vexed  him  that  another 

eye  should  have  been  quicker  than  his.  The  leader 

[32] 


ETHAN  FROME 

of  the  reel,  who  looked  as  if  he  had  Irish  blood  in 
his  veins,  danced  well,  and  his  partner  caught  his 
fire.  As  she  passed  down  the  line,  her  light  figure 
swinging  from  hand  to  hand  in  circles  of  increasing 
swiftness,  the  scarf  flew  off  her  head  and  stood  out 
behind  her  shoulders,  and  Frome,  at  each  turn, 
caught  sight  of  her  laughing  panting  lips,  the  cloud 
of  dark  hair  about  her  forehead,  and  the  dark  eyes 
which  seemed  the  only  fixed  points  in  a  maze  of 
flying  lines. 

The  dancers  were  going  faster  and  faster,  and 
the  musicians,  to  keep  up  with  them,  belaboured 
their  instruments  like  jockeys  lashing  their  mounts 
on  the  home-stretch;  yet  it  seemed  to  the  young 
man  at  the  window  that  the  reel  would  never  end. 
Now  and  then  he  turned  his  eyes  from  the  girl's 
face  to  that  of  her  partner,  which,  in  the  exhilar- 
ation of  the  dance,  had  taken  on  a  look  of  almost 
impudent  ownership.  Denis  Eady  was  the  son  of 
Michael  Eady,  the  ambitious  Irish  grocer,  whose 
suppleness  and  effrontery  had  given  Starkfield  its 
first  notion  of  "smart"  business  methods,  and 
[33] 


ETHAN  FROME 

whose  new  brick  store  testified  to  the  success  of 
the  attempt.  His  son  seemed  likely  to  follow  in  his 
steps,  and  was  meanwhile  applying  the  same  arts 
to  the  conquest  of  the  Starkfield  maidenhood. 
Hitherto  Ethan  Frome  had  been  content  to  think 
him  a  mean  fellow;  but  now  he  positively  invited 
a  horse-whipping.  It  was  strange  that  the  girl  did 
not  seem  aware  of  it:  that  she  could  lift  her  rapt 
face  to  her  dancer's,  and  drop  her  hands  into  his, 
without  appearing  to  feel  the  offence  of  his  look 
and  touch. 

Frome  was  in  the  habit  of  walking  into  Stark- 
field  to  fetch  home  his  wife's  cousin,  Mattie  Silver, 
on  the  rare  evenings  when  some  chance  of  amuse- 
ment drew  her  to  the  village.  It  was  his  wife  who 
had  suggested,  when  the  girl  came  to  live  with 
them,  that  such  opportunities  should  be  put  in  her 
way.  Mattie  Silver  came  from  Stamford,  and  when 
she  entered  the  Fromes'  household  to  act  as  her 
cousin  Zeena's  aid  it  was  thought  best,  as  she  came 
without  pay,  not  to  let  her  feel  too  sharp  a  con- 
trast between  the  life  she  had  left  and  the  isolation 
[34] 


ETHAN  FROME 

of  a  Starkfield  farm.  But  for  this — as  Frome  sar- 
donically reflected — it  would  hardly  have  occurred 
to  Zeena  to  take  any  thought  for  the  girl's  amuse- 
ment. 

When  his  wife  first  proposed  that  they  should 
give  Mattie  an  occasional  evening  out  he  had  in- 
wardly demurred  at  having  to  do  the  extra  two 
miles  to  the  village  and  back  after  his  hard  day 
on  the  farm;  but  not  long  afterward  he  had  reached 
the  point  of  wishing  that  Starkfield  might  give  all 
its  nights  to  revelry. 

Mattie  Silver  had  lived  under  his  roof  for  a 
year,  and  from  early  morning  till  they  met  at  sup- 
per he  had  frequent  chances  of  seeing  her;  but 
no  moments  in  her  company  were  comparable  to 
those  when,  her  arm  in  his,  and  her  light  step 
flying  to  keep  time  with  his  long  stride,  they  walked 
back  through  the  night  to  the  farm.  He  had  taken 
to  the  girl  from  the  first  day,  when  he  had  driven 
over  to  the  Flats  to  meet  her,  and  she  had  smiled 
and  waved  to  him  from  the  train,  crying  out 
"You  must  be  Ethan!"  as  she  jumped  down  with 
[35] 


ETHAN  FROME 

her  bundles,  while  he  reflected,  looking  over  her 
slight  person:  "She  don't  look  much  on  house- 
work, but  she  ain't  a  fretter,  anyhow."  But  it  was 
not  only  that  the  coming  to  his  house  of  a  bit  of 
hopeful  young  life  was  like  the  lighting  of  a  fire  on 
a  cold  hearth.  The  girl  was  more  than  the  bright 
serviceable  creature  he  had  thought  her.  She  had 
an  eye  to  see  and  an  ear  to  hear:  he  could  show 
her  things  and  tell  her  things,  and  taste  the  bliss 
of  feeling  that  all  he  imparted  left  long  reverbera- 
tions and  echoes  he  could  wake  at  will. 

It  was  during  their  night  walks  back  to  the  farm 
that  he  felt  most  intensely  the  sweetness  of  this 
communion.  He  had  always  been  more  sensitive 
than  the  people  about  him  to  the  appeal  of  natural 
beauty.  His  unfinished  studies  had  given  form  to 
this  sensibility  and  even  in  his  unhappiest  moments 
field  and  sky  spoke  to  him  with  a  deep  and  power- 
ful persuasion.  But  hitherto  the  emotion  had  re- 
mained in  him  as  a  silent  ache,  veiling  with  sadness 
the  beauty  that  evoked  it.  He  did  not  even  know 
whether  any  one  else  in  the  world  felt  as  he  did, 
[36] 


ETHAN  FROME 

or  whether  he  was  the  sole  victim  of  this  mournful 
privilege.  Then  he  learned  that  one  other  spirit 
had  trembled  with  the  same  touch  of  wonder:  that 
at  his  side,  living  under  his  roof  and  eating  his 
bread,  was  a  creature  to  whom  he  could  say: 
"That's  Orion  down  yonder;  the  big  fellow  to  the 
right  is  Aldebaran,  and  the  bunch  of  little  ones — 
like  bees  swarming — they're  the  Pleiades  .  .  ."  or 
whom  he  could  hold  entranced  before  a  ledge  of 
granite  thrusting  up  through  the  fern  while  he 
unrolled  the  huge  panorama  of  the  ice  age,  and  the 
long  dim  stretches  of  succeeding  time.  The  fact  that 
admiration  for  his  learning  mingled  with  Mattie's 
wonder  at  what  he  taught  was  not  the  least  part 
of  his  pleasure.  And  there  were  other  sensations, 
less  definable  but  more  exquisite,  which  drew  them 
together  with  a  shock  of  silent  joy:  the  cold  red 
of  sunset  behind  winter  hills,  the  flight  of  cloud- 
flocks  over  slopes  of  golden  stubble,  or  the  intensely 
blue  shadows  of  hemlocks  on  sunlit  snow.  When  she 
said  to  him  once :  "  It  looks  just  as  if  it  was  painted !" 
it  seemed  to  Ethan  that  the  art  of  definition  could 
[37] 


ETHAN  FROME 

go  no  farther,  and  that  words  had  at  last  been  found 
to  utter  his  secret  soul.  .  .  . 

As  he  stood  in  the  darkness  outside  the  church 
these  memories  came  back  with  the  poignancy  of 
vanished  things.  Watching  Mattie  whirl  down  the 
floor  from  hand  to  hand  he  wondered  how  he  could 
ever  have  thought  that  his  dull  talk  interested  her. 
To  him,  who  was  never  gay  but  in  her  presence, 
her  gaiety  seemed  plain  proof  of  indifference.  The 
face  she  lifted  to  her  dancers  was  the  same  which, 
when  she  saw  him,  always  looked  like  a  window 
that  has  caught  the  sunset.  He  even  noticed  two  or 
three  gestures  which,  in  his  fatuity,  he  had  thought 
she  kept  for  him :  a  way  of  throwing  her  head  back 
when  she  was  amused,  as  if  to  taste  her  laugh  before 
she  let  it  out,  and  a  trick  of  sinking  her  lids  slowly 
when  anything  charmed  or  moved  her. 

The  sight  made  him  unhappy,  and  his  unhappi- 
ness  roused  his  latent  fears.  His  wife  had  never 
shown  any  jealousy  of  Mattie,  but  of  late  she  had 
grumbled  increasingly  over  the  house-work  and 
found  oblique  ways  of  attracting  attention  to  the 
[38] 


ETHAN  FROME 

girl's  inefficiency.  Zeena  had  always  been  what 
Starkfield  called  "  sickly,"  and  Frome  had  to  admit 
that,  if  she  were  as  ailing  as  she  believed,  she 
needed  the  help  of  a  stronger  arm  than  the  one 
which  lay  so  lightly  in  his  during  the  night  walks 
to  the  farm.  Mattie  had  no  natural  turn  for  house- 
keeping, and  her  training  had  done  nothing  to 
remedy  the  defect.  She  was  quick  to  learn,  but  for- 
getful and  dreamy,  and  not  disposed  to  take  the 
matter  seriously.  Ethan  had  an  idea  that  if  she  were 
to  marry  a  man  she  was  fond  of  the  dormant  in- 
stinct would  wake,  and  her  pies  and  biscuits  become 
the  pride  of  the  county;  but  domesticity  in  the  ab- 
stract did  not  interest  her.  At  first  she  was  so  awk- 
ward that  he  could  not  help  laughing  at  her;  but 
she  laughed  with  him  and  that  made  them  better 
friends.  He  did  his  best  to  supplement  her  unskilled 
efforts,  getting  up  earlier  than  usual  to  light  the 
kitchen  fire,  carrying  in  the  wood  overnight,  and 
neglecting  the  mill  for  the  farm  that  he  might  help 
her  about  the  house  during  the  day.  He  even  crept 
down  on  Saturday  nights  to  scrub  the  kitchen  floor 
[39] 


ETHAN  FRO ME 

after  the  women  had  gone  to  bed;  and  Zeena,  one 
day,  had  surprised  him  at  the  churn  and  had  turned 
away  silently,  with  one  of  her  queer  looks. 

Of  late  there  had  been  other  signs  of  her  dis- 
favour, as  intangible  but  more  disquieting.  One 
cold  winter  morning,  as  he  dressed  in  the  dark,  his 
candle  flickering  in  the  draught  of  the  ill-fitting  win- 
dow, he  had  heard  her  speak  from  the  bed  behind 
him. 

"  The  doctor  don't  want  I  should  be  left  without 
anybody  to  do  for  me,"  she  said  in  her  flat  whine. 

He  had  supposed  her  to  be  asleep,  and  the  sound 
of  her  voice  had  startled  him,  though  she  was  given 
to  abrupt  explosions  of  speech  after  long  intervals 
of  secretive  silence. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her  where  she  lay  in- 
distinctly outlined  under  the  dark  calico  quilt,  her 
high-boned  face  taking  a  grayish  tinge  from  the 
whiteness  of  the  pillow. 

"  Nobody  to  do  for  you  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"If  you  say  you  can't  afford  a  hired  girl  when 
Mattie  goes." 

[40] 


ETHAN  FROME 

Frome  turned  away  again,  and  taking  up  his  razor 
stooped  to  catch  the  reflection  of  his  stretched  cheek 
in  the  blotched  looking-glass  above  the  wash-stand. 

"  Why  on  earth  should  Mattie  go  ?  " 

"Well,  when  she  gets  married,  I  mean,"  his 
wife's  drawl  came  from  behind  him. 

"  Oh,  she'd  never  leave  us  as  long  as  you  needed 
her,"  he  returned,  scraping  hard  at  his  chin. 

"  I  wouldn't  ever  have  it  said  that  I  stood  in  the 
way  of  a  poor  girl  like  Mattie  marrying  a  smart 
fellow  like  Denis  Eady,"  Zeena  answered  in  a  tone 
of  plaintive  self-effacement. 

Ethan,  glaring  at  his  face  in  the  glass,  threw 
his  head  back  to  draw  the  razor  from  ear  to  chin. 
His  hand  was  steady,  but  the  attitude  was  an  ex- 
cuse for  not  making  an  immediate  reply. 

"And  the  doctor  don't  want  I  should  be  left 
without  anybody,"  Zeena  continued.  "He  wanted 
I  should  speak  to  you  about  a  girl  he's  heard  about, 
that  might  come " 

Ethan  laid  down  the  razor  and  straightened  him- 
self with  a  laugh. 


ETHAN  FROME 

"Denis  Eady!  If  that's  all  I  guess  there's  no 
such  hurry  to  look  round  for  a  girl." 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you  about  it,"  said 
Zeena  obstinately. 

He  was  getting  into  his  clothes  in  fumbling  haste. 
"All  right.  But  I  haven't  got  the  time  now;  I'm 
late  as  it  is,"  he  returned,  holding  his  old  silver 
turnip-watch  to  the  candle. 

Zeena,  apparently  accepting  this  as  final,  lay 
watching  him  in  silence  while  he  pulled  his  sus- 
penders over  his  shoulders  and  jerked  his  arms  into 
his  coat;  but  as  he  went  toward  the  door  she  said, 
suddenly  and  incisively:  "I  guess  you're  always 
late,  now  you  shave  every  morning." 

That  thrust  had  frightened  him  more  than  any 
vague  insinuations  about  Denis  Eady.  It  was  a 
fact  that  since  Mattie  Silver's  coming  he  had  taken 
to  shaving  every  day;  but  his  wife  always  seemed 
to  be  asleep  when  he  left  her  side  in  the  winter 
darkness,  and  he  had  stupidly  assumed  that  she 
would  not  notice  any  change  in  his  appearance. 
Once  or  twice  in  the  past  he  had  been  faintly  dis- 
[42] 


ETHAN  FROME 

quieted  by  Zenobia's  way  of  letting  things  happen 
without  seeming  to  remark  them,  and  then,  weeks 
afterward,  in  a  casual  phrase,  revealing  that  she 
had  all  along  taken  her  notes  and  drawn  her  infer- 
ences. Of  late,  however,  there  had  been  no  room 
in  his  thoughts  for  such  vague  apprehensions.  Zeena 
herself,  from  an  oppressive  reality,  had  faded  into 
an  insubstantial  shade.  All  his  life  was  lived  in  the 
sight  and  sound  of  Mattie  Silver,  and  he  could  no 
longer  conceive  of  its  being  otherwise.  But  now,  as 
he  stood  outside  the  church,  and  saw  Mattie  spin- 
ning down  the  floor  with  Denis  Eady,  a  throng  of 
disregarded  hints  and  menaces  wove  their  cloud 
about  his  brain. 


n 


AS  the  dancers  poured  out  of  the  hall  Frome, 
•L  \*  drawing  back  behind  the  projecting  storm- 
door,  watched  the  segregation  of  the  grotesquely 
muffled  groups,  in  which  a  moving  lantern  ray  now 
and  then  lit  up  a  face  flushed  with  food  and  danc- 
ing. The  villagers,  being  afoot,  were  the  first  to 
climb  the  slope  to  the  main  street,  while  the  country 
neighbours  packed  themselves  more  slowly  into  the 
sleighs  under  the  shed. 

"Ain't  you  riding,  Mattie?"  a  woman's  voice 
called  back  from  the  throng  about  the  shed,  and 
Ethan's  heart  gave  a  jump.  From  where  he  stood 
he  could  not  see  the  persons  coming  out  of  the  hall 
till  they  had  advanced  a  few  steps  beyond  the 
wooden  sides  of  the  storm-door;  but  through  its 
cracks  he  heard  a  clear  voice  answer:  "Mercy  no! 
Not  on  such  a  night." 

She  was  there,  then,  close  to  him,  only  a  thin 
[44] 


ETHAN  FROME 

board  between.  In  another  moment  she  would  step 
forth  into  the  night,  and  his  eyes,  accustomed  to 
the  obscurity,  would  discern  her  as  clearly  as  though 
she  stood  in  daylight.  A  wave  of  shyness  pulled  him 
back  into  the  dark  angle  of  the  wall,  and  he  stood 
there  in  silence  instead  of  making  his  presence 
known  to  her.  It  had  been  one  of  the  wonders  of 
their  intercourse  that  from  the  first,  she,  the  quicker, 
finer,  more  expressive,  instead  of  crushing  him  by 
the  contrast,  had  given  him  something  of  her  own 
ease  and  freedom;  but  now  he  felt  as  heavy  and 
loutish  as  in  his  student  days,  when  he  had  tried 
to  "  jolly "  the  Worcester  girls  at  a  picnic. 

He  hung  back,  and  she  came  out  alone  and 
paused  within  a  few  yards  of  him.  She  was  almost 
the  last  to  leave  the  hall,  and  she  stood  looking 
uncertainly  about  her  as  if  wondering  why  he  did 
not  show  himself.  Then  a  man's  figure  approached, 
coming  so  close  to  her  that  under  their  formless 
wrappings  they  seemed  merged  in  one  dim  outline. 

"  Gentleman  friend  gone  back  on  you  ?  Say,  Matt, 
that's  tough!  No,  I  wouldn't  be  mean  enough  to  tell 
[45] 


ETHAN  FROME 

the  other  girls.  I  ain't  as  low-down  as  that."  (How 
Frome  hated  his  cheap  banter!)  "But  look  at  here, 
ain't  it  lucky  I  got  the  old  man's  cutter  down  there 
waiting  for  us  r  " 

Frome  heard  the  girl's  voice,  gaily  incredulous: 
"What  on  earth's  your  father's  cutter  doin'  down 
there?" 

"Why,  waiting  for  me  to  take  a  ride.  I  got  the 
roan  colt  too.  I  kinder  knew  I'd  want  to  take  a  ride 
to-night,"  Eady,  in  his  triumph,  tried  to  put  a  sen- 
timental note  into  his  bragging  voice. 

The  girl  seemed  to  waver,  and  Frome  saw  her 
twirl  the  end  of  her  scarf  irresolutely  about  her 
fingers.  Not  for  the  world  would  he  have  made  a 
sign  to  her,  though  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  life 
hung  on  her  next  gesture. 

"Hold  on  a  minute  while  I  unhitch  the  colt," 
Denis  called  to  her,  springing  toward  the  shed. 

She  stood  perfectly  still,  looking  after  him,  in  an 

attitude  of  tranquil   expectancy  torturing  to   the 

hidden  watcher.  Frome  noticed  that  she  no  longer 

turned  her  head  from  side  to  side,  as  though  peer- 

[46] 


ETHAN  FROME 

ing  through  the  night  for  another  figure.  She  let 
Denis  Eady  lead  out  the  horse,  climb  into  the  cut- 
ter and  fling  back  the  bearskin  to  make  room  for 
her  at  his  side;  then,  with  a  swift  motion  of  flight, 
she  turned  about  and  darted  up  the  slope  toward 
the  front  of  the  church. 

"  Good-bye!  Hope  you'll  have  a  lovely  ride!"  she 
called  back  to  him  over  her  shoulder. 

Denis  laughed,  and  gave  the  horse  a  cut  that 
brought  him  quickly  abreast  of  her  retreating  figure. 

"Come  along!  Get  in  quick!  It's  as  slippery  as 
thunder  on  this  turn,"  he  cried,  leaning  over  to 
reach  out  a  hand  to  her. 

She  laughed  back  at  him:  "  Good-night!  I'm  not 
getting  in." 

By  this  time  they  had  passed  beyond  Frome's 
earshot  and  he  could  only  follow  the  shadowy 
pantomime  of  their  silhouettes  as  they  continued 
to  move  along  the  crest  of  the  slope  above  him.  He 
saw  Eady,  after  a  moment,  jump  from  the  cutter 
and  go  toward  the  girl  with  the  reins  over  one  arm. 
The  other  he  tried  to  slip  through  hers;  but  she 
[47] 


ETHAN  FROME 

eluded  him  nimbly,  and  Frome's  heart,  which  had 
swung  out  over  a  black  void,  trembled  back  to 
safety.  A  moment  later  he  heard  the  jingle  of  de- 
parting sleigh  bells  and  discerned  a  figure  advancing 
alone  toward  the  empty  expanse  of  snow  before  the 
church. 

In  the  black  shade  of  the  Varnum  spruces  he 
caught  up  with  her  and  she  turned  with  a  quick 
"Oh!" 

"Think  I'd  forgotten  you,  Matt?"  he  asked 
with  sheepish  glee. 

She  answered  seriously:  "I  thought  maybe  you 
couldn't  come  back  for  me." 

"  Couldn't  ?  What  on  earth  could  stop  me  ?" 

"I  knew  Zeena  wasn't  feeling  any  too  good 
to-day." 

"  Oh,  she's  in  bed  long  ago."  He  paused,  a  ques- 
tion struggling  in  him.  "Then  you  meant  to  walk 
home  all  alone  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  ain't  afraid!"  she  laughed. 

They  stood  together  in  the  gloom  of  the  spruces, 
an  empty  world  glimmering  about  them  wide  and 
[48] 


ETHAN  FRO ME 

grey  under  the  stars.  He  brought  his  question 
out. 

"If  you  thought  I  hadn't  come,  why  didn't  you 
ride  back  with  Denis  Eady  ?  " 

"  Why,  where  were  you  ?  How  did  you  know  ?  I 
never  saw  you!" 

Her  wonder  and  his  laughter  ran  together  like 
spring  rills  in  a  thaw.  Ethan  had  the  sense  of 
having  done  something  arch  and  ingenious.  To 
prolong  the  effect  he  groped  for  a  dazzling  phrase, 
and  brought  out,  in  a  growl  of  rapture:  "Come 
along." 

He  slipped  an  arm  through  hers,  as  Eady  had 
done,  and  fancied  it  was  faintly  pressed  against 
her  side;  but  neither  of  them  moved.  It  was  so 
dark  under  the  spruces  that  he  could  barely  see  the 
shape  of  her  head  beside  his  shoulder.  He  longed 
to  stoop  his  cheek  and  rub  it  against  her  scarf.  He 
would  have  liked  to  stand  there  with  her  all  night 
in  the  blackness.  She  moved  forward  a  step  or  two 
and  then  paused  again  above  the  dip  of  the  Cor- 
bury  road.  Its  icy  slope,  scored  by  innumerable 
[49  ] 


El    T AN  FRO ME 

runners,  looked  like  a  mirror  scratched  by  travellers 
at  an  inn. 

"There  was  a  whole  lot  of  them  coasting  before 
the  moon  set,"  she  said. 

"Would  you  like  to  come  in  and  coast  with 
them  some  night?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  would  you,  Ethan?  It  would  be  lovely!" 

"  We'll  come  to-morrow  if  there's  a  moon." 

She  lingered,  pressing  closer  to  his  side.  "Ned 
Hale  and  Ruth  Varnum  came  just  as  near  running 
into  the  big  elm  at  the  bottom.  We  were  all  sure 
they  were  killed."  Her  shiver  ran  down  his  arm. 
"Wouldn't  it  have  been  too  awful?  They're  so 
happy!" 

"Oh,  Ned  ain't  much  at  steering.  I  guess  I  can 
take  you  down  all  right!"  he  said  disdainfully. 

He  was  aware  that  he  was  "talking  big,"  like 
Denis  Eady;  but  his  reaction  of  joy  had  unsteadied 
him,  and  the  inflection  with  which  she  had  said  of 
the  engaged  couple  "They're  so  happy!"  made 
the  words  sound  as  if  she  had  been  thinking  of 
herself  and  him. 

[50] 


ETHAN  FRQME 

"  The  elm  is  dangerous,  though.  It  ought  to  -be 
cut  down,"  she  insisted. 

"  Would  you  be  afraid  of  it,  with  me  ?  " 

"I  told  you  I  ain't  the  kind  to  be  afraid,"  she 
tossed  back,  almost  indifferently;  and  suddenly 
she  began  to  walk  on  with  a  rapid  step. 

These  alterations  of  mood  were  the  despair  and 
joy  of  Ethan  Frome.  The  motions  of  her  mind 
were  as  incalculable  as  the  flit  of  a  bird  in  the 
branches.  The  fact  that  he  had  no  right  to  show 
his  feelings,  and  thus  provoke  the  expression  of 
hers,  made  him  attach  a  fantastic  importance  to 
every  change  in  her  look  and  tone.  Now  he  thought 
she  understood  him,  and  feared;  now  he  was  sure 
she  did  not,  and  despaired.  To-night  the  pressure 
of  accumulated  misgivings  sent  the  scale  drooping 
toward  despair,  and  her  indifference  was  the  more 
chilling  after  the  flush  of  joy  into  which  she  had 
plunged  him  by  dismissing  Denis  Eady.  He 
mounted  School  House  Hill  at  her  side  and  walked 
on  in  silence  till  they  reached  the  lane  leading  to  the 
saw-inill;  then  the  need  of  some  definite  assurance 
grew  too  strong  for  him. 

[51] 


ETHAN  FROME 

"You'd  have  found  me  right  off  if  you  hadn't 
gone  back  to  have  that  last  reel  with  Denis,"  he 
brought  out  awkwardly.  He  could  not  pronounce 
the  name  without  a  stiffening  of  the  muscles  of  his 
throat. 

"Why,  Ethan,  how  could  I  tell  you  were  there?" 

"  I  suppose  what  folks  say  is  true,"  he  jerked  out 
at  her,  instead  of  answering. 

She  stopped  short,  and  he  felt,  in  the  darkness, 
that  her  face  was  lifted  quickly  to  his.  "Why, 
what  do  folks  say?" 

"It's  natural  enough  you  should  be  leaving  us," 
he  floundered  on,  following  his  thought. 

"Is  that  what  they  say?"  she  mocked  back  at 
him;  then,  with  a  sudden  drop  of  her  sweet  treble: 
"You  mean  that  Zeena — ain't  suited  with  me  any 
more?"  she  faltered. 

Their  arms  had  slipped  apart  and  they  stood 
motionless,  each  seeking  to  distinguish  the  other's 
face. 

"I  know  I  ain't  anything  like  as  smart  as  I 
ought  to  be,"  she  went  on,  while  he  vainly  struggled 
for  expression.  "There's  lots  of  things  a  hired  girl 
[52] 


ETHAN  FROME 

could  do  that  come  awkward  to  me  still — and  I 
haven't  got  much  strength  in  my  arms.  But  if 
she'd  only  tell  me  I'd  try.  You  know  she  hardly 
ever  says  anything,  and  sometimes  I  can  see  she 
ain't  suited,  and  yet  I  don't  know  why."  She  turned 
on  him  with  a  sudden  flash  of  indignation.  "  You'd 
ought  to  tell  me,  Ethan  Frome — you'd  ought  to! 
Unless  you  want  me  to  go  too " 

Unless  he  wanted  her  to  go  too!  The  cry  was 
balm  to  his  raw  wound.  The  iron  heavens  seemed 
to  melt  and  rain  down  sweetness.  Again  he  struggled 
for  the  all-expressive  word,  and  again,  his  arm  in 
hers,  found  only  a  deep  "  Come  along." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  through  the  blackness 
of  the  hemlock-shaded  lane,  where  Ethan's  saw- 
mill gloomed  through  the  night,  and  out  again  into 
the  comparative  clearness  of  the  fields.  On  the  far- 
ther side  of  the  hemlock  belt  the  open  country 
rolled  away  before  them  grey  and  lonely  under  the 
stars.  Sometimes  their  way  led  them  under  the  shade 
of  an  overhanging  bank  or  through  the  thin  obscur- 
ity of  a  clump  of  leafless  trees.  Here  and  there  a 
[S3] 


ETHAN  FROME 

farmhouse  stood  far  back  among  the  fields,  mute 
and  cold  as  a  grave-stone.  The  night  was  so  still  that 
they  heard  the  frozen  snow  crackle  under  their  feet. 
The  crash  of  a  loaded  branch  falling  far  off  in  the 
woods  reverberated  like  a  musket-shot,  and  once  a 
fox  barked,  and  Mattie  shrank  closer  to  Ethan, 
and  quickened  her  steps. 

At  length  they  sighted  the  group  of  larches  at 
Ethan's  gate,  and  as  they  drew  near  it  the  sense 
that  the  walk  was  over  brought  back  his  words. 

"  Then  you  don't  want  to  leave  us,  Matt  ?  " 

He  had  to  stoop  his  head  to  catch  her  stifled 
whisper:  "  Where'd  I  go,  if  I  did  ?" 

The  answer  sent  a  pang  through  him  but  the 
tone  suffused  him  with  joy.  He  forgot  what  else  he 
had  meant  to  say  and  pressed  her  against  him  so 
closely  that  he  seemed  to  feel  her  warmth  in  his 
veins. 

"You  ain't  crying  are  you,  Matt?" 

"  No,  of  course  I'm  not,"  she  quavered. 

They  turned  in  at  the  gate  and  passed  under  the 
shaded  knoll  where,  enclosed  in  a  low  fence,  the 
[54] 


ETHAN  FROME 

Frome  grave-stones  slanted  at  crazy  angles  through 
the  snow.  Ethan  looked  at  them  curiously.  For  years 
that  quiet  company  had  mocked  his  restlessness, 
his  desire  for  change  and  freedom.  "We  never  got 
away — how  should  you  ?  "  seemed  to  be  written  on 
every  headstone;  and  whenever  he  went  in  or  out 
of  his  gate  he  thought  with  a  shiver:  "I  shall  just 
go  on  living  here  till  I  join  them."  But  now  all 
desire  for  change  had  vanished,  and  the  sight  of 
the  little  enclosure  gave  him  a  warm  sense  of  con- 
tinuance and  stability. 

"  I  guess  we'll  never  let  you  go,  Matt,"  he  whis- 
pered, as  though  even  the  dead,  lovers  once,  must 
conspire  with  him  to  keep  her;  and  brushing  by  the 
graves,  he  thought:  "We'll  always  go  on  living  here 
together,  and  some  day  she'll  lie  there  beside  me." 

He  let  the  vision  possess  him  as  they  climbed 
the  hill  to  the  house.  He  was  never  so  happy  with 
her  as  when  he  abandoned  himself  to  these  dreams. 
Half-way  up  the  slope  Mattie  stumbled  against 
some  unseen  obstruction  and  clutched  his  sleeve  to 
steady  herself.  The  wave  of  warmth  that  went 
[55] 


ETHAN  FROME 

through  him  was  like  the  prolongation  of  his  vision. 
For  the  first  time  he  stole  his  arm  about  her,  and 
she  did  not  resist.  They  walked  on  as  if  they  were 
floating  on  a  summer  stream. 

Zeena  always  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  she  had 
had  her  supper,  and  the  shutterless  windows  of  the 
house  were  dark.  A  dead  cucumber-vine  dangled 
from  the  porch  like  the  crape  streamer  tied  to  the 
door  for  a  death,  and  the  thought  flashed  through 
Ethan's  brain:  "If  it  was  there  for  Zeena—"  Then 
he  had  a  distinct  sight  of  his  wife  lying  in  their  bed- 
room asleep,  her  mouth  slightly  open,  her  false  teeth 
in  a  tumbler  by  the  bed  .  .  . 

They  walked  around  to  the  back  of  the  house, 
between  the  rigid  gooseberry  bushes.  It  was  Zeena's 
habit,  when  they  came  back  late  from  the  village, 
to  leave  the  key  of  the  kitchen  door  under  the  mat. 
Ethan  stood  before  the  door,  his  head  heavy  with 
dreams,  his  arm  still  about  Mattie.  "Matt — "  he 
began,  not  knowing  what  he  meant  to  say. 

She  slipped  out  of  his  hold  without  speaking,  and 
he  stooped  down  and  felt  for  the  key. 
[56] 


ETHAN  FROME 

"It's  not  there!"  he  said,  straightening  himself 
with  a  start. 

They  strained  their  eyes  at  each  other  through 
the  icy  darkness.  Such  a  thing  had  never  happened 
before. 

"Maybe  she's  forgotten  it,"  Mattie  said  in  a 
tremulous  whisper;  but  both  of  them  knew  that 
it  was  not  like  Zeena  to  forget. 

"  It  might  have  fallen  off  into  the  snow,"  Mattie 
continued,  after  a  pause  during  which  they  had 
stood  intently  listening. 

"It  must  have  been  pushed  off,  then,"  he  re- 
joined in  the  same  tone.  Another  wild  thought  tore 
through  him.  What  if  tramps  had  been  there — 
what  if  ... 

Again  he  listened,  fancying  he  heard  a  distant 
sound  in  the  house;  then  he  felt  in  his  pocket  for 
a  match,  and  kneeling  down,  passed  its  light  slowly 
over  the  rough  edges  of  snow  about  the  doorstep. 

He  was  still  kneeling  when  his  eyes,  on  a  level 
with  the  lower  panel  of  the  door,  caught  a  faint  ray 
beneath  it.  Who  could  be  stirring  in  that  silent 
[57] 


ETHAN  FROME 

house?  He  heard  a  step  on  the  stairs,  and  again 
for  an  instant  the  thought  of  tramps  tore  through 
him.  Then  the  door  opened  and  he  saw  his  wife. 

Against  the  dark  background  of  the  kitchen  she 
stood  up  tall  and  angular,  one  hand  drawing  a 
quilted  counterpane  to  her  flat  breast,  while  the 
other  held  a  lamp.  The  light,  on  a  level  with  her 
chin,  drew  out  of  the  darkness  her  puckered  throat 
and  the  projecting  wrist  of  the  hand  that  clutched 
the  quilt,  and  deepened  fantastically  the  hollows 
and  prominences  of  her  high-boned  face  under  its 
ring  of  crimping-pins.  To  Ethan,  still  in  the  rosy 
haze  of  his  hour  with  Mattie,  the  sight  came  with 
the  intense  precision  of  the  last  dream  before  wak- 
ing. He  felt  as  if  he  had  never  before  known  what 
his  wife  looked  like. 

She  drew  aside  without  speaking,  and  Mattie  and 
Ethan  passed  into  the  kitchen,  which  had  the  deadly 
chill  of  a  vault  after  the  dry  cold  of  the  night. 

"Guess  you  forgot  about  us,  Zeena,"  Ethan 
joked,  stamping  the  snow  from  his  boots. 

"No.  I  just  felt  so  mean  I  couldn't  sleep." 
[58] 


ETHAN  FROME 

Mattie  came  forward,  unwinding  her  wraps,  the 
colour  of  the  cherry  scarf  in  her  fresh  lips  and 
cheeks.  "I'm  so  sorry,  Zeena!  Isn't  there  anything 
lean  do?" 

"No;  there's  nothing."  Zeena  turned  away  from 
her.  "You  might  'a'  shook  off  that  snow  outside," 
she  said  to  her  husband. 

She  walked  out  of  the  kitchen  ahead  of  them  and 
pausing  in  the  hall  raised  the  lamp  at  arm's-length, 
as  if  to  light  them  up  the  stairs. 

Ethan  paused  also,  affecting  to  fumble  for  the 
peg  on  which  he  hung  his  coat  and  cap.  The  doors 
of  the  two  bedrooms  faced  each  other  across  the 
narrow  upper  landing,  and  to-night  it  was  pecu- 
liarly repugnant  to  him  that  Mattie  should  see  him 
follow  Zeena. 

"I  guess  I  won't  come  up  yet  awhile,"  he  said, 
turning  as  if  to  go  back  to  the  kitchen. 

Zeena  stopped  short  and  looked  at  him.  "  For  the 
land's  sake — what  you  going  to  do  down  here  ? " 

"I've  got  the  mill  accounts  to  go  over." 

She  continued  to  stare  at  him,  the  flame  of  the 
[59] 


ETHAN  FROME 

unshaded  lamp  bringing  out  with  microscopic  cru- 
elty the  fretful  lines  of  her  face. 

"  At  this  time  o'  night  ?  You'll  ketch  your  death. 
The  fire's  out  long  ago." 

Without  answering  he  moved  away  toward  the 
kitchen.  As  he  did  so  his  glance  crossed  Mattie's 
and  he  fancied  that  a  fugitive  warning  gleamed 
through  her  lashes.  The  next  moment  they  sank 
to  her  flushed  cheeks  and  she  began  to  mount  the 
stairs  ahead  of  Zeena. 

"That's  so.  It  is  powerful  cold  down  here," 
Ethan  assented;  and  with  lowered  head  he  went 
up  in  his  wife's  wake,  and  followed  her  across  the 
threshold  of  their  room. 


[60] 


Ill 

THERE  was  some  hauling  to  be  done  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  wood-lot,  and  Ethan  was 
out  early  the  next  day. 

The  winter  morning  was  as  clear  as  crystal.  The 
sunrise  burned  red  in  a  pure  sky,  the  shadows  on 
the  rim  of  the  wood-lot  were  darkly  blue,  and  be- 
yond the  white  and  scintillating  fields  patches  of 
far-off  forest  hung  like  smoke. 

It  was  in  the  early  morning  stillness,  when  his 
muscles  were  swinging  to  their  familiar  task  and 
his  lungs  expanding  with  long  draughts  of  mountain 
air,  that  Ethan  did  his  clearest  thinking.  He  and 
Zeena  had  not  exchanged  a  word  after  the  door  of 
their  room  had  closed  on  them.  She  had  measured 
out  some  drops  from  a  medicine-bottle  on  a  chair 
by  the  bed  and,  after  swallowing  them,  and  wrap- 
ping her  head  in  a  piece  of  yellow  flannel,  had 
lain  down  with  her  face  turned  away.  Ethan  un- 
[61] 


ETHAN  FROME 

dressed  hurriedly  and  blew  out  the  light  so  that  he 
should  not  see  her  when  he  took  his  place  at  her 
side.  As  he  lay  there  he  could  hear  Mattie  moving 
about  in  her  room,  and  her  candle,  sending  its  small 
ray  across  the  landing,  drew  a  scarcely  perceptible 
line  of  light  under  his  door.  He  kept  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  light  till  it  vanished.  Then  the  room  grew 
perfectly  black,  and  not  a  sound  was  audible  but 
Zeena's  asthmatic  breathing.  Ethan  felt  confusedly 
that  there  were  many  things  he  ought  to  think  about, 
but  through  his  tingling  veins  and  tired  brain  only 
one  sensation  throbbed:  the  warmth  of  Mattie's 
shoulder  against  his.  Why  had  he  not  kissed  her 
when  he  held  her  there?  A  few  hours  earlier  he 
would  not  have  asked  himself  the  question.  Even 
a  few  minutes  earlier,  when  they  had  stood  alone 
outside  the  house,  he  would  not  have  dared  to  think 
of  kissing  her.  But  since  he  had  seen  her  lips  in 
the  lamplight  he  felt  that  they  were  his. 

Now,  in  the  bright  morning  air,  her  face  was 
still  before  him.  It  was  part  of  the  sun's  red  and 
of  the  pure  glitter  on  the  snow.  How  the  girl  had 
[62] 


ETHAN  FROME 

changed  since  she  had  come  to  Starkfield!  He  re- 
membered what  a  colourless  slip  of  a  thing  she  had 
looked  the  day  he  had  met  her  at  the  station.  And 
all  the  first  winter,  how  she  had  shivered  with  cold 
when  the  northerly  gales  shook  the  thin  clapboards 
and  the  snow  beat  like  hail  against  the  loose-hung 
windows! 

He  had  been  afraid  that  she  would  hate  the  hard 
life,  the  cold  and  loneliness;  but  not  a  sign  of  dis- 
content escaped  her.  Zeena  took  the  view  that 
Mattie  was  bound  to  make  the  best  of  Starkfield 
since  she  hadn't  any  other  place  to  go  to;  but  this 
did  not  strike  Ethan  as  conclusive.  Zeena,  at  any 
rate,  did  not  apply  the  principle  in  her  own  case. 

He  felt  all  the  more  sorry  for  the  girl  because 
misfortune  had,  in  a  sense,  indentured  her  to  them. 
Mattie  Silver  was  the  daughter  of  a  cousin  of  Ze- 
nobia  Frome's,  who  had  inflamed  his  clan  with  min- 
gled sentiments  of  envy  and  admiration  by  de- 
scending from  the  hills  to  Connecticut,  where  he 
had  married  a  Stamford  girl  and  succeeded  to  her 
father's  thriving  "drug"  business.  Unhappily  Orin 
[63] 


ETHAN  FROME 

Silver,  a  man  of  far-reaching  aims,  had  died  too 
soon  to  prove  that  the  end  justifies  the  means.  His 
accounts  revealed  merely  what  the  means  had  been ; 
and  these  were  such  that  it  was  fortunate  for  his 
wife  and  daughter  that  his  books  were  examined 
only  after  his  impressive  funeral.  His  wife  died  of 
the  disclosure,  and  Mattie,  at  twenty,  was  left  alone 
to  make  her  way  on  the  fifty  dollars  obtained  from 
the  sale  of  her  piano.  For  this  purpose  her  equip- 
ment, though  varied,  was  inadequate.  She  could 
trim  a  hat,  make  molasses  candy,  recite  "Curfew 
shall  not  ring  to-night,"  and  play  "  The  Lost  Chord  " 
and  a  pot-pourri  from  "  Carmen."  When  she  tried 
to  extend  the  field  of  her  activities  in  the  direction 
of  stenography  and  book-keeping  her  health  broke 
down,  and  six  months  on  her  feet  behind  the  counter 
of  a  department  store  did  not  tend  to  restore  it.  Her 
nearest  relations  had  been  induced  to  place  their 
savings  in  her  father's  hands,  and  though,  after  his 
death,  they  ungrudgingly  acquitted  themselves  of 
the  Christian  duty  of  returning  good  for  evil  by 
giving  his  daughter  all  the  advice  at  their  disposal, 
[64] 


ETHAN    FROME 

they  could  hardly  be  expected  to  supplement  it  by 
material  aid.  But  when  Zenobia's  doctor  recom- 
mended her  looking  about  for  some  one  to  help  her 
with  the  house-work  the  clan  instantly  saw  the 
chance  of  exacting  a  compensation  from  Mattie. 
Zenobia,  though  doubtful  of  the  girl's  efficiency,  was 
tempted  by  the  freedom  to  find  fault  without  much 
risk  of  losing  her;  and  so  Mattie  came  to  Starkfield. 

Zenobia's  fault-finding  was  of  the  silent  kind, 
but  not  the  less  penetrating  for  that.  During  the 
first  months  Ethan  alternately  burned  with  the  de- 
sire to  see  Mattie  defy  her  and  trembled  with  fear 
of  the  result.  Then  the  situation  grew  less  strained. 
The  pure  air,  and  the  long  summer  hours  in  the 
open,  gave  back  life  and  elasticity  to  Mattie,  and 
Zeena,  with  more  leisure  to  devote  to  her  complex 
ailments,  grew  less  watchful  of  the  girl's  omissions; 
so  that  Ethan,  struggling  on  under  the  burden  of 
his  barren  farm  and  failing  saw-mill,  could  at  least 
imagine  that  peace  reigned  in  his  house. 

There  was  really,  even  now,  no  tangible  evidence 
to  the  contrary;  but  since  the  previous  night  a  vague 
[65] 


ETHAN    FROME 

dread  had  hung  on  his  sky-line.  It  was  formed  of 
Zeena's  obstinate  silence,  of  Mattie's  sudden  look  of 
warning,  of  the  memory  of  just  such  fleeting  imper- 
ceptible signs  as  those  which  told  him,  on  certain 
stainless  mornings,  that  before  night  there  would  be 
rain. 

His  dread  was  so  strong  that,  man-like,  he  sought 
to  postpone  certainty.  The  hauling  was  not  over  till 
mid-day,  and  as  the  lumber  was  to  be  delivered  to 
Andrew  Hale,  the  Starkfield  builder,  it  was  really 
easier  for  Ethan  to  send  Jotham  Powell,  the  hired 
man,  back  to  the  farm  on  foot,  and  drive  the  load 
down  to  the  village  himself.  He  had  scrambled  up  on 
the  logs,  and  was  sitting  astride  of  them,  close  over 
his  shaggy  grays,  when,  coming  between  him  and 
their  steaming  necks,  he  had  a  vision  of  the  warning 
look  that  Mattie  had  given  him  the  night  before. 

"If  there's  going  to  be  any  trouble  I  want  to  be 
there,"  was  his  vague  reflection,  as  he  threw  to 
Jotham  the  unexpected  order  to  unhitch  the  team 
and  lead  them  back  to  the  barn. 

It  was  a  slow  trudge  home  through  the  heavy 
[66] 


ETHAN    FROME 

fields,  and  when  the  two  men  entered  the  kitchen 
Mattie  was  lifting  the  coffee  from  the  stove  and 
Zeena  was  already  at  the  table.  Her  husband 
stopped  short  at  sight  of  her.  Instead  of  her  usual 
calico  wrapper  and  knitted  shawl  she  wore  her 
best  dress  of  brown  merino,  and  above  her  thin 
strands  of  hair,  which  still  preserved  the  tight  un- 
dulations of  the  crimping-pins,  rose  a  hard  perpen- 
dicular bonnet,  as  to  which  Ethan's  clearest  notion 
was  that  he  had  to  pay  five  dollars  for  it  at  the 
Bettsbridge  Emporium.  On  the  floor  beside  her 
stood  his  old  valise  and  a  bandbox  wrapped  in 
newspapers. 

"Why,  where  are  you  going,  Zeena?"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"I've  got  my  shooting  pains  so  bad  that  I'm 
going  over  to  Bettsbridge  to  spend  the  night  with 
Aunt  Martha  Pierce  and  see  that  new  doctor,"  she 
answered  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  as  if  she  had 
said  she  was  going  into  the  store-room  to  take  a 
look  at  the  preserves,  or  up  to  the  attic  to  go  over 
the  blankets. 

[67] 


ETHAN    FROME 

In  spite  of  her  sedentary  habits  such  abrupt  de- 
cisions were  not  without  precedent  in  Zeena's  his- 
tory. Twice  or  thrice  before  she  had  suddenly  packed 
Ethan's  valise  and  started  off  to  Bettsbridge,  or 
even  Springfield,  to  seek  the  advice  of  some  new 
doctor,  and  her  husband  had  grown  to  dread  these 
expeditions  because  of  their  cost.  Zeena  always 
came  back  laden  with  expensive  remedies,  and  her 
last  visit  to  Springfield  had  been  commemorated  by 
her  paying  twenty  dollars  for  an  electric  battery  of 
which  she  had  never  been  able  to  learn  the  use. 
But  for  the  moment  his  sense  of  relief  was  so  great 
as  to  preclude  all  other  feelings.  He  had  now  no 
doubt  that  Zeena  had  spoken  the  truth  in  saying, 
the  night  before,  that  she  had  sat  up  because  she 
felt  "too  mean"  to  sleep:  her  abrupt  resolve  to 
seek  medical  advice  showed  that,  as  usual,  she  was 
wholly  absorbed  in  her  health. 

As  if  expecting  a  protest,  she  continued  plain- 
tively;  "If  you're  too  busy  with  the  hauling  I  pre- 
sume you  can  let  Jotham  Powell  drive  me  over  with 
the  sorrel  in  time  to  ketch  the  train  at  the  Flats." 
[68] 


ETHAN    FRO  ME 

Her  husband  hardly  heard  what  she  was  saying. 
During  the  winter  months  there  was  no  stage  be- 
tween Starkfield  and  Bettsbridge,  and  the  trains 
which  stopped  at  Corbury  Flats  were  slow  and  in- 
frequent. A  rapid  calculation  showed  Ethan  that 
Zeena  could  not  be  back  at  the  farm  before  the 
following  evening.  .  .  . 

"If  I'd  supposed  you'd  'a'  made  any  objection 
to  Jotham  Powell's  driving  me  over — "  she  began 
again,  as  though  his  silence  had  implied  refusal.  On 
the  brink  of  departure  she  was  always  seized  with  a 
flux  of  words.  "All  I  know  is,"  she  continued,  "I 
can't  go  on  the  way  I  am  much  longer.  The  pains 
are  clear  away  down  to  my  ankles  now,  or  I'd  'a' 
walked  in  to  Starkfield  on  my  own  feet,  sooner'n  put 
you  out,  and  asked  Michael  Eady  to  let  me  ride  over 
on  his  wagon  to  the  Flats,  when  he  sends  to  meet 
the  train  that  brings  his  groceries.  I'd  'a'  had  two 
hours  to  wait  in  the  station,  but  I'd  sooner  'a'  done 
it,  even  with  this  cold,  than  to  have  you  say " 

"Of  course  Jotham'll  drive  you  over,"  Ethan 
roused  himself  to  answer.  He  became  suddenly  con- 
[69] 


ETHAN    FROME 

scious  that  lie  was  looking  at  Mattie  while  Zeena 
talked  to  him,  and  with  an  effort  he  turned  his  eyes 
to  his  wife.  She  sat  opposite  the  window,  and  the 
pale  light  reflected  from  the  banks  of  snow  made 
her  face  look  more  than  usually  drawn  and  blood- 
less, sharpened  the  three  parallel  creases  between 
ear  and  cheek,  and  drew  querulous  lines  from  her 
thin  nose  to  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  Though  she 
was  but  seven  years  her  husband's  senior,  and  he  was 
only  twenty-eight,  she  was  already  an  old  woman. 

Ethan  tried  to  say  something  befitting  the  occa- 
sion, but  there  was  only  one  thought  in  his  mind: 
the  fact  that,  for  the  first  time  since  Mattie  had 
come  to  live  with  them,  Zeena  was  to  be  away  for  a 
night.  He  wondered  if  the  girl  were  thinking  of  it 
too.  .  .  . 

He  knew  that  Zeena  must  be  wondering  why 
he  did  not  offer  to  drive  her  to  the  Flats  and  let 
Jotham  Powell  take  the  lumber  to  Starkfield,  and 
at  first  he  could  not  think  of  a  pretext  for  not 
doing  so;  then  he  said:  "I'd  take  you  over  myself, 
only  I've  got  to  collect  the  cash  for  the  lumber." 
[70] 


ETHAN    FROME 

As  soon  as  the  words  were  spoken  he  regretted 
them,  not  only  because  they  were  untrue — there 
being  no  prospect  of  his  receiving  cash  payment 
from  Hale — but  also  because  he  knew  from  experi- 
ence the  imprudence  of  letting  Zeena  think  he  was 
in  funds  on  the  eve  of  one  of  her  therapeutic  excur- 
sions. At  the  moment,  however,  his  one  desire  was 
to  avoid  the  long  drive  with  her  behind  the  ancient 
sorrel  who  never  went  out  of  a  walk. 

Zeena  made  no  reply:  she  did  not  seem  to  hear 
what  he  had  said.  She  had  already  pushed  her 
plate  aside,  and  was  measuring  out  a  draught  from 
a  large  bottle  at  her  elbow. 

"It  ain't  done  me  a  speck  of  good,  but  I  guess 
I  might  as  well  use  it  up,*'  she  remarked;  adding, 
as  she  pushed  the  empty  bottle  toward  Mattie: 
"  If  you  can  get  the  taste  out  it'll  do  for  pickles." 


[71] 


IV 

AS  soon  as  his  wife  had  driven  off  Ethan  took 
-^  A-  his  coat  and  cap  from  the  peg.  Mattie  was 
washing  up  the  dishes,  humming  one  of  the  dance 
tunes  of  the  night  before.  He  said  "  So  long,  Matt," 
and  she  answered  gaily  "So  long,  Ethan";  and 
that  was  all. 

It  was  warm  and  bright  in  the  kitchen.  The  sun 
slanted  through  the  south  window  on  the  girl's 
moving  figure,  on  the  cat  dozing  in  a  chair,  and 
on  the  geraniums  brought  in  from  the  door-way, 
where  Ethan  had  planted  them  in  the  summer  to 
"  make  a  garden  "  for  Mattie.  He  would  have  liked 
to  linger  on,  watching  her  tidy  up  and  then  settle 
down  to  her  sewing;  but  he  wanted  still  more  to 
get  the  hauling  done  and  be  back  at  the  farm  before 
night. 

All  the  way  down  to  the  village  he  continued  to 
think  of  his  return  to  Mattie.  The  kitchen  was  a 
[72] 


ETHAN    FROME 

poor  place,  not  "spruce"  and  shining  as  his  mother 
had  kept  it  in  his  boyhood;  but  it  was  surprising 
what  a  homelike  look  the  mere  fact  of  Zeena's  ab- 
sence gave  it.  And  he  pictured  what  it  would  be  like 
that  evening,  when  he  and  Mattie  were  there  after 
supper.  For  the  first  time  they  would  be  alone  to- 
gether indoors,  and  they  would  sit  there,  one  on 
each  side  of  the  stove,  like  a  married  couple,  he  in 
his  stocking  feet  and  smoking  his  pipe,  she  laugh- 
ing and  talking  in  that  funny  way  she  had,  which 
was  always  as  new  to  him  as  if  he  had  never  heard 
her  before. 

The  sweetness  of  the  picture,  and  the  relief  of 
knowing  that  his  fears  of  "trouble"  with  Zeena 
were  unfounded,  sent  up  his  spirits  with  a  rush, 
and  he,  who  was  usually  so  silent,  whistled  and 
sang  aloud  as  he  drove  through  the  snowy  fields. 
There  was  in  him  a  slumbering  spark  of  sociability 
which  the  long  Starkfield  winters  had  not  yet 
extinguished.  By  nature  grave  and  inarticulate,  he 
admired  recklessness  and  gaiety  in  others  and  was 
warmed  to  the  marrow  by  friendly  human  inter- 
[73] 


ETHAN    FROME 

course.  At  Worcester,  though  he  had  the  name  of 
keeping  to  himself  and  not  being  much  of  a  hand 
at  a  good  time,  he  had  secretly  gloried  in  being 
clapped  on  the  back  and  hailed  as  "  Old  Ethe "  or 
"  Old  Stiff  " ;  and  the  cessation  of  such  familiarities 
had  increased  the  chill  of  his  return  to  Starkfield. 

There  the  silence  had  deepened  about  him  year 
by  year.  Left  alone,  after  his  father's  accident,  to 
carry  the  burden  of  farm  and  mill,  he  had  had  no 
time  for  convivial  loiterings  in  the  village ;  and  when 
his  mother  fell  ill  the  loneliness  of  the  house  grew 
more  oppressive  than  that  of  the  fields.  His  mother 
had  been  a  talker  in  her  day,  but  after  her  "  trouble  " 
the  sound  of  her  voice  was  seldom  heard,  though 
she  had  not  lost  the  power  of  speech.  Sometimes, 
in  the  long  winter  evenings,  when  in  desperation 
her  son  asked  her  why  she  didn't  "  say  something," 
she  would  lift  a  finger  and  answer :  "  Because  I'm 
listening";  and  on  stormy  nights,  when  the  loud 
wind  was  about  the  house,  she  would  complain,  if 
he  spoke  to  her:  "They're  talking  so  out  there 
that  I  can't  hear  you." 

[74] 


ETHAN    FROME 

It  was  only  when  she  drew  toward  her  last  ill- 
ness, and  his  cousin  Zenobia  Pierce  came  over  from 
the  next  valley  to  help  him  nurse  her,  that  human 
speech  was  heard  again  in  the  house.  After  the 
mortal  silence  of  his  long  imprisonment  Zeena's 
volubility  was  music  in  his  ears.  He  felt  that  he 
might  have  "  gone  like  his  mother "  if  the  sound  of 
a  new  voice  had  not  come  to  steady  him.  Zeena 
seemed  to  understand  his  case  at  a  glance.  She 
laughed  at  him  for  not  knowing  the  simplest  sick- 
bed duties  and  told  him  to  "go  right  along  out" 
and  leave  her  to  see  to  things.  The  mere  fact  of 
obeying  her  orders,  of  feeling  free  to  go  about  his 
business  again  and  talk  with  other  men,  restored 
his  shaken  balance  and  magnified  his  sense  of  what 
he  owed  her.  Her  efficiency  shamed  and  dazzled 
him.  She  seemed  to  possess  by  instinct  all  the 
household  wisdom  that  his  long  apprenticeship  had 
not  instilled  in  him.  When  the  end  came  it  was  she 
who  had  to  tell  him  to  hitch  up  and  go  for  the  under- 
taker, and  she  thought  it  "funny"  that  he  had  not 
settled  beforehand  who  was  to  have  his  mother's 
[75] 


ETHAN    FROME 

clothes  and  the  sewing-machine.  After  the  funeral, 
when  he  saw  her  preparing  to  go  away,  he  was 
seized  with  an  unreasoning  dread  of  being  left  alone 
on  the  farm;  and  before  he  knew  what  he  was  doing 
he  had  asked  her  to  stay  there  with  him.  He  had 
often  thought  since  that  it  would  not  have  hap- 
pened if  his  mother  had  died  in  spring  instead  of 
winter  .  .  . 

When  they  married  it  was  agreed  that,  as  soon  as 
he  could  straighten  out  the  difficulties  resulting  from 
Mrs.  Frome's  long  illness,  they  would  sell  the  farm 
and  saw-mill  and  fry  their  luck  in  a  large  town. 
Ethan's  love  of  nature  did  not  take  the  form  of  a 
taste  for  agriculture.  He  had  always  wanted  to  be  an 
engineer,  and  to  live  in  towns,  where  there  were  lec- 
tures and  big  libraries  and  "fellows  doing  things." 
A  slight  engineering  job  in  Florida,  put  in  his  way 
during  his  period  of  study  at  Worcester,  increased 
his  faith  in  his  ability  as  well  as  his  eagerness  to  see 
the  world;  and  he  felt  sure  that,  with  a  "smart" 
wife  like  Zeena,  it  would  not  be  long  before  he  had 
made  himself  a  place  in  it. 


ETHAN    FROME 

Zeena's  native  village  was  slightly  larger  and 
nearer  to  the  railway  than  Starkfield,  and  she  had 
let  her  husband  see  from  the  first  that  life  on  an 
isolated  farm  was  not  what  she  had  expected  when 
she  married.  But  purchasers  were  slow  in  coming, 
and  while  he  waited  for  them  Ethan  learned  the 
impossibility  of  transplanting  her.  She  chose  to 
look  down  on  Starkfield,  but  she  could  not  have 
lived  in  a  place  which  looked  down  on  her.  Even 
Bettsbridge  or  Shadd's  Falls  would  not  have  been 
sufficiently  aware  of  her,  and  in  the  greater  cities 
which  attracted  Ethan  she  would  have  suffered  a 
complete  loss  of  identity.  And  within  a  year  of  their 
marriage  she  developed  the  "  sickliness  "  which  had 
since  made  her  notable  even  in  a  community  rich 
in  pathological  instances.  When  she  came  to  take 
care  of  his  mother  she  had  seemed  to  Ethan  like  the 
very  genius  of  health,  but  he  soon  saw  that  her  skill 
as  a  nurse  had  been  acquired  by  the  absorbed  ob- 
servation of  her  own  symptoms. 

Then  she  too  fell  silent.  Perhaps  it  was  the  in- 
evitable effect  of  life  on  the  farm,  or  perhaps,  as 
[77] 


ETHAN    FROME 

she  sometimes  said,  it  was  because  Ethan  "never 
listened."  The  charge  was  not  wholly  unfounded. 
When  she  spoke  it  was  only  to  complain,  and  to 
complain  of  things  not  in  his  power  to  remedy;  and 
to  check  a  tendency  to  impatient  retort  he  had  first 
formed  the  habit  of  not  answering  her,  and  finally 
of  thinking  of  other  things  while  she  talked.  Of  late, 
however,  since  he  had  had  reasons  for  observing 
her  more  closely,  her  silence  had  begun  to  trouble 
him.  He  recalled  his  mother's  growing  taciturnity, 
and  wondered  if  Zeena  were  also  turning  "  queer." 
Women  did,  he  knew.  Zeena,  who  had  at  her  fin- 
gers' ends  the  pathological  chart  of  the  whole 
region,  had  cited  many  cases  of  the  kind  while  she 
was  nursing  his  mother;  and  he  himself  knew  of 
certain  lonely  farm-houses  in  the  neighbourhood 
where  stricken  creatures  pined,  and  of  others  where 
sudden  tragedy  had  come  of  their  presence.  At 
times,  looking  at  Zeena's  shut  face,  he  felt  the  chill 
of  such  forebodings.  At  other  times  her  silence 
seemed  deliberately  assumed  to  conceal  far-reach- 
ing intentions,  mysterious  conclusions  drawn  from 
[78] 


ETHAN    FROME 

suspicions  and  resentments  impossible  to  guess. 
That  supposition  was  even  more  disturbing  than  the 
other;  and  it  was  the  one  which  had  come  to  him 
the  night  before,  when  he  had  seen  her  standing  in 
the  kitchen  door. 

Now  her  departure  for  Bettsbridge  had  once 
more  eased  his  mind,  and  all  his  thoughts  were  on 
the  prospect  of  his  evening  with  Mattie.  Only  one 
thing  weighed  on  him,  and  that  was  his  having  told 
Zeena  that  he  was  to  receive  cash  for  the  lumber. 
He  foresaw  so  clearly  the  consequences  of  this  im- 
prudence that  with  considerable  reluctance  he  de- 
cided to  ask  Andrew  Hale  for  a  small  advance  on 
his  load. 

When  Ethan  drove  into  Hale's  yard  the  builder 
was  just  getting  out  of  his  sleigh. 

"Hello,  Ethe!"  he  said.  "This  comes  handy." 

Andrew  Hale  was  a  ruddy  man  with  a  big  gray 
moustache  and  a  stubbly  double-chin  unconstrained 
by  a  collar;  but  his  scrupulously  clean  shirt  was 
always  fastened  by  a  small  diamond  stud.  This  dis- 
play of  opulence  was  misleading,  for  though  he  did 
[79] 


ETHAN    FROME 

a  fairly  good  business  it  was  known  that  his  easy- 
going habits  and  the  demands  of  his  large  family  fre- 
quently kept  him  what  Starkfield  called  "  behind." 
He  was  an  old  friend  of  Ethan's  family,  and  his 
house  one  of  the  few  to  which  Zeena  occasionally 
went,  drawn  there  by  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Hale,  in 
her  youth,  had  done  more  "doctoring"  than  any 
other  woman  in  Starkfield,  and  was  still  a  recog- 
nised authority  on  symptoms  and  treatment. 

Hale  went  up  to  the  grays  and  patted  their  sweat- 
ing flanks. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "you  keep  them  two  as  if 
they  was  pets." 

Ethan  set  about  unloading  the  logs  and  when  he 
had  finished  his  job  he  pushed  open  the  glazed 
door  of  the  shed  which  the  builder  used  as  his 
office.  Hale  sat  with  his  feet  up  on  the  stove,  his 
back  propped  against  a  battered  desk  strewn  with 
papers :  the  place,  like  the  man,  was  warm,  genial 
and  untidy. 

"  Sit  right  down  and  thaw  out,"  he  greeted  Ethan. 

The  latter  did  not  know  how  to  begin,  but  at 
[80] 


ETHAN    FROME 

length  he  managed  to  bring  out  his  request  for  an 
advance  of  fifty  dollars.  The  blood  rushed  to  his 
thin  skin  under  the  sting  of  Hale's  astonishment. 
It  was  the  builder's  custom  to  pay  at  the  end  of 
three  months,  and  there  was  no  precedent  between 
the  two  men  for  a  cash  settlement. 

Ethan  felt  that  if  he  had  pleaded  an  urgent  need 
Hale  might  have  made  shift  to  pay  him;  but  pride, 
and  an  instinctive  prudence,  kept  him  from  resort- 
ing to  this  argument.  After  his  father's  death  it  had 
taken  time  to  get  his  head  above  water,  and  he  did 
not  want  Andrew  Hale,  or  any  one  else  in  Stark- 
field,  to  think  he  was  going  under  again.  Besides, 
he  hated  lying;  if  he  wanted  the  money  he  wanted 
it,  and  it  was  nobody's  business  to  ask  why.  He 
therefore  made  his  demand  with  the  awkwardness  of 
a  proud  man  who  will  not  admit  to  himself  that 
he  is  stooping;  and  he  was  not  much  surprised  at 
Hale's  refusal. 

The  builder  refused  genially,  as  he  did  every- 
thing else:  he  treated  the  matter  as  something  in 
the  nature  of  a  practical  joke,  and  wanted  to  know 
[81  ] 


ETHAN    FROME 

if  Ethan  meditated  buying  a  grand  piano  or  adding 
a  "cupolo"  to  his  house;  offering,,  in  the  latter  case, 
to  give  his  services  free  of  cost. 

Ethan's  arts  were  soon  exhausted,  and  after  an 
embarrassed  pause  he  wished  Hale  good  day  and 
opened  the  door  of  the  office.  As  he  passed  out  the 
builder  suddenly  called  after  him:  "See  here — you 
ain't  in  a  tight  place,  are  you  ? " 

"Not  a  bit,"  Ethan's  pride  retorted  before  his 
reason  had  time  to  intervene. 

"Well,  that's  good!  Because  I  am,  a  shade.  Fact 
is,  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  give  me  a  little  extra 
time  on  that  payment.  Business  is  pretty  slack,  to 
begin  with,  and  then  I'm  fixing  up  a  little  house 
for  Ned  and  Ruth  when  they're  married.  I'm  glad 
to  do  it  for  'em,  but  it  costs."  His  look  appealed  to 
Ethan  for  sympathy.  "  The  young  people  like  things 
nice.  You  know  how  it  is  yourself:  it's  not  so  long 
ago  since  you  fixed  up  your  own  place  for  Zeena." 

Ethan  left  the  grays  in  Hale's  stable  and  went 
about  some  other  business  in  the  village.  As  he 
[82] 


ETHAN    FROME 

walked  away  the  builder's  last  phrase  lingered  in 
his  ears,  and  he  reflected  grimly  that  his  seven 
years  with  Zeena  seemed  to  Starkfield  "not  so 
long." 

The  afternoon  was  drawing  to  an  end,  and  here 
and  there  a  lighted  pane  spangled  the  cold  gray 
dusk  and  made  the  snow  look  whiter.  The  bitter 
weather  had  driven  every  one  indoors  and  Ethan 
had  the  long  rural  street  to  himself.  Suddenly  he 
heard  the  brisk  play  of  sleigh-bells  and  a  cutter 
passed  him,  drawn  by  a  free-going  horse.  Ethan 
recognised  Michael  Eady's  roan  colt,  and  young 
Denis  Eady,  in  a  handsome  new  fur  cap,  leaned 
forward  and  waved  a  greeting.  "Hello,  Ethe!"  he 
shouted  and  spun  on. 

The  cutter  was  going  in  the  direction  of  the 
Frome  farm,  and  Ethan's  heart  contracted  as  he 
listened  to  the  dwindling  bells.  What  more  likely 
than  that  Denis  Eady  had  heard  of  Zeena's  depar- 
ture for  Bettsbridge,  and  was  profiting  by  the  op- 
portunity to  spend  an  hour  with  Mattie?  Ethan 
was  ashamed  of  the  storm  of  jealousy  in  his  breast. 
[83] 


ETHAN    FROME 

It  seemed  unworthy  of  the  girl  that  his  thoughts  of 
her  should  be  so  violent. 

He  walked  on  to  the  church  corner  and  entered 
the  shade  of  the  Varnum  spruces,  where  he  had 
stood  with  her  the  night  before.  As  he  passed  into 
their  gloom  he  saw  an  indistinct  outline  just  ahead 
of  him.  At  his  approach  it  melted  for  an  instant  into 
two  separate  shapes  and  then  conjoined  again,  and 
he  heard  a  kiss,  and  a  half-laughing  "Oh!"  pro- 
voked by  the  discovery  of  his  presence.  Again  the 
outline  hastily  disunited  and  the  Varnum  gate 
slammed  on  one  half  while  the  other  hurried  on 
ahead  of  him.  Ethan  smiled  at  the  discomfiture 
he  had  caused.  What  did  it  matter  to  Ned  Hale  and 
Ruth  Varnum  if  they  were  caught  kissing  each 
other?  Everybody  in  Starkfield  knew  they  were 
engaged.  It  pleased  Ethan  to  have  surprised  a  pair 
of  lovers  on  the  spot  where  he  and  Mattie  had  stood 
with  such  a  thirst  for  each  other  in  their  hearts ;  but 
he  felt  a  pang  at  the  thought  that  these  two  need 
not  hide  their  happiness. 

He  fetched  the  grays  from  Hale's  stable  and 
[84] 


ETHAN    FROME 

started  on  his  long  climb  back  to  the  farm.  The 
cold  was  less  sharp  than  earlier  in  the  day  and  a 
thick  fleecy  sky  threatened  snow  for  the  morrow. 
Here  and  there  a  star  pricked  through,  showing 
behind  it  a  deep  well  of  blue.  In  an  hour  or  two 
the  moon  would  push  up  over  the  ridge  behind  the 
farm,  burn  a  gold-edged  rent  in  the  clouds,  and 
then  be  swallowed  by  them.  A  mournful  peace  hung 
on  the  fields,  as  though  they  felt  the  relaxing  grasp 
of  the  cold  and  stretched  themselves  in  their  long 
winter  sleep. 

Ethan's  ears  were  alert  for  the  jingle  of  sleigh- 
bells,  but  not  a  sound  broke  the  silence  of  the 
lonely  road.  As  he  drew  near  the  farm  he  saw, 
through  the  thin  screen  of  larches  at  the  gate,  a 
light  twinkling  in  the  house  above  him.  "She's  up 
in  her  room,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  fixing  herself  up 
for  supper";  and  he  remembered  Zeena's  sarcastic 
stare  when  Mattie,  on  the  evening  of  her  arrival, 
had  come  down  to  supper  with  smoothed  hair  and 
a  ribbon  at  her  neck. 

He  passed  by  the  graves  on  the  knoll  and  turned 
[85] 


ETHAN    FROME 

his  head  to  glance  at  one  of  the  older  headstones, 
which  had  interested  him  deeply  as  a  boy  because 
it  bore  his  name. 

SACRED    TO    THE   MEMORY   OP 

ETHAN   FROME   AND    ENDURANCE    HIS   WIFE, 

WHO    DWELLED    TOGETHER   IN   PEACE 

FOR   FIFTY   YEARS. 

He  used  to  think  that  fifty  years  sounded  like  a 
long  time  to  live  together;  but  now  it  seemed  to 
him  that  they  might  pass  in  a  flash.  Then,  with  a 
sudden  dart  of  irony,  he  wondered  if,  when  their 
turn  came,  the  same  epitaph  would  be  written  over 
him  and  Zeena. 

He  opened  the  barn-door  and  craned  his  head 
into  the  obscurity,  half-fearing  to  discover  Denis 
Eady's  roan  colt  in  the  stall  beside  the  sorrel. 
But  the  old  horse  was  there  alone,  mumbling  his 
crib  with  toothless  jaws,  and  Ethan  whistled  cheer- 
fully while  he  bedded  down  the  grays  and  shook 
an  extra  measure  of  oats  into  their  mangers.  His 
was  not  a  tuneful  throat,  but  harsh  melodies  burst 
from  it  as  he  locked  the  barn  and  sprang  up  the 
[86] 


ETHAN    FROME 

hill  to  the  house.  He  reached  the  kitchen-porch 
and  turned  the  door-handle;  but  the  door  did  not 
yield  to  his  touch. 

Startled  at  finding  it  locked  he  rattled  the  handle 
violently;  then  he  reflected  that  Mattie  was  alone 
and  that  it  was  natural  she  should  barricade  herself 
at  nightfall.  He  stood  in  the  darkness  expecting  to 
hear  her  step.  It  did  not  come,  and  after  vainly 
straining  his  ears  he  called  out  in  a  voice  that 
shook  with  joy:  "Hello,  Matt!" 

Silence  answered;  but  in  a  minute  or  two  he 
caught  a  sound  on  the  stairs  and  saw  a  line  of 
light  about  the  door-frame,  as  he  had  seen  it  the 
night  before.  So  strange  was  the  precision  with 
which  the  incidents  of  the  previous  evening  were 
repeating  themselves  that  he  half  expected,  when 
he  heard  the  key  turn,  to  see  his  wife  before  him 
on  the  threshold;  but  the  door  opened,  and  Mattie 
faced  him. 

She  stood  just  as  Zeena  had  stood,  a  lifted  lamp 
in  her  hand,  against  the  black  background  of  the 
kitchen.  She  held  the  light  at  the  same  level,  and 
[87] 


ETHAN    FROME 

it  drew  out  with  the  same  distinctness  her  slim 
young  throat  and  the  brown  wrist  no  bigger  than 
a  child's.  Then,  striking  upward,  it  threw  a  lus- 
trous fleck  on  her  lips,  edged  her  eyes  with  velvet 
shade,  and  laid  a  milky  whiteness  above  the  black 
curve  of  her  brows. 

She  wore  her  usual  dress  of  darkish  stuff,  and  there 
was  no  bow  at  her  neck;  but  through  her  hair  she 
had  run  a  streak  of  crimson  ribbon.  This  tribute 
to  the  unusual  transformed  and  glorified  her.  She 
seemed  to  Ethan  taller,  fuller,  more  womanly  in 
shape  and  motion.  She  stood  aside,  smiling  silently, 
while  he  entered,  and  then  moved  away  from  him 
with  something  soft  and  flowing  in  her  gait.  She 
set  the  lamp  on  the  table,  and  he  saw  that  it  was 
carefully  laid  for  supper,  with  fresh  dough-nuts, 
stewed  blueberries  and  his  favourite  pickles  in  a 
dish  of  gay  red  glass.  A  bright  fire  glowed  in  the 
stove  and  the  cat  lay  stretched  before  it,  watching 
the  table  with  a  drowsy  eye. 

Ethan  was  suffocated  with  the  sense  of  well- 
being.  He  went  out  into  the  passage  to  hang  up  his 
[88] 


ETHAN    FROME 

coat  and  pull  off  his  wet  boots.  When  he  came 
back  Mattie  had  set  the  teapot  on  the  table  and 
the  cat  was  rubbing  itself  persuasively  against 
her  ankles. 

"  Why,  Puss !  I  nearly  tripped  over  you,"  she  cried, 
the  laughter  sparkling  through  her  lashes. 

Again  Ethan  felt  a  sudden  twinge  of  jealousy. 
Could  it  be  his  coming  that  gave  her  such  a  kindled 
face? 

"  Well,  Matt,  any  visitors  ?  "  he  threw  off,  stoop- 
ing down  carelessly  to  examine  the  fastening  of  the 
stove. 

She  nodded  and  laughed  "  Yes,  one,"  and  he  felt 
a  blackness  settling  on  his  brows. 

"  Who  was  that  ?  "  he  questioned,  raising  himself 
up  to  slant  a  glance  at  her  beneath  his  scowl. 

Her  eyes  danced  with  malice.  "Why,  Jotham 
Powell.  He  came  in  after  he  got  back,  and  asked 
for  a  drop  of  coffee  before  he  went  down  home." 

The  blackness  lifted  and  light  flooded  Ethan's 
brain.  "That  all?  Well,  I  hope  you  made  out  to 
let  him  have  it."  And  after  a  pause  he  felt  it  right 
[89] 


ETHAN    FROME 

to  add :  "  I  suppose  he  got  Zeena  over  to  the  Flats 
all  right?" 

"Oh,  yes;  in  plenty  of  time." 

The  name  threw  a  chill  between  them,  and  they 
stood  a  moment  looking  sideways  at  each  other 
before  Mattie  said  with  a  shy  laugh:  "I  guess  it's 
about  time  for  supper." 

They  drew  their  seats  up  to  the  table,  and  the 
cat,  unbidden,  jumped  between  them  into  Zeena's 
empty  chair.  "Oh,  Puss!"  said  Mattie,  and  they 
laughed  again. 

Ethan,  a  moment  earlier,  had  felt  himself  on  the 
brink  of  eloquence;  but  the  mention  of  Zeena  had 
paralysed  him.  Mattie  seemed  to  feel  the  contagion 
of  his  embarrassment,  and  sat  with  downcast  lids, 
sipping  her  tea,  while  he  feigned  an  insatiable  appe- 
tite for  dough-nuts  and  sweet  pickles.  At  last,  after 
casting  about  for  an  effective  opening,  he  took  a 
long  gulp  of  tea,  cleared  his  throat,  and  said: 
"  Looks  as  if  there'd  be  more  snow." 

She  feigned  great  interest.  "  Is  that  so  ?  Do  you 
suppose  it'll  interfere  with  Zeena's  getting  back?" 
[90] 


ETHAN    FROME 

She  flushed  red  as  the  question  escaped  her,  and 
hastily  set  down  the  cup  she  was  lifting. 

Ethan  reached  over  for  another  helping  of  pickles. 
"  You  never  can  tell,  this  time  of  year,  it  drifts  so 
bad  on  the  Flats."  The  name  had  benumbed  him 
again,  and  once  more  he  felt  as  if  Zeena  were  in  the 
room  between  them. 

"Oh,  Puss,  you're  too  greedy!"  Mattie  cried. 

The  cat,  unnoticed,  had  crept  up  on  muffled  paws 
from  Zeena's  seat  to  the  table,  and  was  stealthily 
elongating  its  body  in  the  direction  of  the  milk-jug, 
which  stood  between  Ethan  and  Mattie.  The  two 
leaned  forward  at  the  same  moment  and  their 
hands  met  on  the  handle  of  the  jug.  Mattie's  hand 
was  underneath,  and  Ethan  kept  his  clasped  on  it  a 
moment  longer  than  was  necessary.  The  cat,  prof- 
iting by  this  unusual  demonstration,  tried  to  effect 
an  unnoticed  retreat,  and  in  doing  so  backed  in- 
to the  pickle-dish,  which  fell  to  the  floor  with  a 
crash. 

Mattie,  in  an  instant,  had  sprung  from  her  chair 
and  was  down  on  her  knees  by  the  fragments. 
[91] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"Oh,  Ethan,  Ethan— it's  all  to  pieces!  What  will 
Zeena  say?" 

But  this  time  his  courage  was  up.  "Well,  she'll 
have  to  say  it  to  the  cat,  any  way ! "  he  rejoined  with 
a  laugh,  kneeling  down  at  Mattie's  side  to  scrape 
up  the  swimming  pickles. 

She  lifted  stricken  eyes  to  him.  "Yes,  but,  you 
see,  she  never  meant  it  should  be  used,  not  even 
when  there  was  company;  and  I  had  to  get  up  on 
the  step-ladder  to  reach  it  down  from  the  top  shelf 
of  the  china-closet,  where  she  keeps  it  with  all  her 
best  things,  and  of  course  she'll  want  to  know  why 
I  did  it " 

The  case  was  so  serious  that  it  called  forth  all 
of  Ethan's  latent  resolution. 

"She  needn't  know  anything  about  it  if  you 
keep  quiet.  I'll  get  another  just  like  it  to-morrow. 
Where  did  it  come  from  ?  I'll  go  to  Shadd's  Falls 
for  it  if  I  have  to!" 

"  Oh,  you'll  never  get  another  even  there!  It  was 
a  wedding  present— don't  you  remember  ?  It  came 
all  the  way  from  Philadelphia,  from  Zeena's  aunt 
[92] 


ETHAN    FROME 

that  married  the  minister.  That's  why  she  wouldn't 
ever  use  it.  Oh,  Ethan,  Ethan,  what  in  the  world 
shall  I  do?" 

She  began  to  cry,  and  he  felt  as  if  every  one  of 
her  tears  were  pouring  over  him  like  burning  lead. 
"Don't,  Matt,  don't— oh,  don't  1"  he  implored  her. 

She  struggled  to  her  feet,  and  he  rose  and  fol- 
lowed her  helplessly  while  she  spread  out  the  pieces 
of  glass  on  the  kitchen  dresser.  It  seemed  to  him  as 
if  the  shattered  fragments  of  their  evening  lay  there. 

"Here,  give  them  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of 
sudden  authority. 

She  drew  aside,  instinctively  obeying  his  tone. 
"Oh,  Ethan,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

Without  replying  he  gathered  the  pieces  of  glass 
into  his  broad  palm  and  walked  out  of  the  kitchen 
to  the  passage.  There  he  lit  a  candle-end,  opened  the 
china-closet,  and,  reaching  his  long  arm  up  to  the 
highest  shelf,  laid  the  pieces  together  with  such 
accuracy  of  touch  that  a  close  inspection  convinced 
him  of  the  impossibility  of  detecting  from  below  that 
the  dish  was  broken.  If  he  glued  it  together  the 
[93] 


ETHAN    FROME 

next  morning  months  might  elapse  before  his  wife 
noticed  what  had  happened,  and  meanwhile  he 
might  after  all  be  able  to  match  the  dish  at  Shadd's 
Falls  or  Bettsbridge.  Having  satisfied  himself  that 
there  was  no  risk  of  immediate  discovery  he  went 
back  to  the  kitchen  with  a  lighter  step,  and  found 
Mattie  disconsolately  removing  the  last  scraps  of 
pickle  from  the  floor. 

"It's  all  right,  Matt.  Come  back  and  finish  sup- 
per," he  commanded  her. 

Completely  reassured,  she  shone  on  him  through 
tear-hung  lashes,  and  his  soul  swelled  with  pride 
as  he  saw  how  his  tone  subdued  her.  She  did  not 
even  ask  what  he  had  done.  Except  when  he  was 
steering  a  big  log  down  the  mountain  to  his  mill  he 
had  never  known  such  a  thrilling  sense  of  mastery. 


[94] 


THEY  finished  supper,  and  while  Mattie 
cleared  the  table  Ethan  went  to  look  at 
the  cows  and  then  took  a  last  turn  about  the  house. 
The  earth  lay  dark  under  a  muffled  sky  and  the 
air  was  so  still  that  now  and  then  he  heard  a  lump 
of  snow  come  thumping  down  from  a  tree  far  off 
on  the  edge  of  the  wood-lot. 

When  he  returned  to  the  kitchen  Mattie  had 
pushed  up  his  chair  to  the  stove  and  seated  her- 
self near  the  lamp  with  a  bit  of  sewing.  The  scene 
was  just  as  he  had  dreamed  of  it  that  morning. 
He  sat  down,  drew  his  pipe  from  his  pocket  and 
stretched  his  feet  to  the  glow.  His  hard  day's  work 
in  the  keen  air  made  him  feel  at  once  lazy  and  light 
of  mood,  and  he  had  a  confused  sense  of  being  in 
another  world,  where  all  was  warmth  and  harmony 
and  time  could  bring  no  change.  The  only  draw- 
back to  his  complete  well-being  was  the  fact  that 
[95] 


ETHAN    FROME 

lie  could  not  see  Mattie  from  where  he  sat;  but 
he  was  too  indolent  to  move  and  after  a  moment 
he  said:  "Come  over  here  and  sit  by  the  stove." 

Zeena's  empty  rocking-chair  stood  facing  him. 
Mattie  rose  obediently,  and  seated  herself  in  it.  As 
her  young  brown  head  detached  itself  against  the 
patch- work  cushion  that  habitually  framed  his  wife's 
gaunt  countenance,  Ethan  had  a  momentary  shock. 
It  was  almost  as  if  the  other  face,  the  face  of  the  su- 
perseded woman,  had  obliterated  that  of  the  intru- 
der. After  a  moment  Mattie  seemed  to  be  affected 
by  the  same  sense  of  constraint.  She  changed  her 
position,  leaning  forward  to  bend  her  head  above 
her  work,  so  that  he  saw  only  the  foreshortened  tip 
of  her  nose  and  the  streak  of  red  in  her  hair;  then 
she  slipped  to  her  feet,  saying  "  I  can't  see  to  sew," 
and  went  back  to  her  chair  by  the  lamp. 

Ethan  made  a  pretext  of  getting  up  to  replenish 
the  stove,  and  when  he  returned  to  his  seat  he 
pushed  it  sideways  that  he  might  get  a  view  of  her 
profile  and  of  the  lamplight  falling  on  her  hands. 
The  cat,  who  had  been  a  puzzled  observer  of  these 
[96] 


ETHAN    FROME 

unusual  movements,  jumped  up  into  Zeena's  chair, 
rolled  itself  into  a  ball,  and  lay  watching  them  with 
narrowed  eyes. 

Deep  quiet  sank  on  the  room.  The  clock  ticked 
above  the  dresser,  a  piece  of  charred  wood  fell 
now  and  then  in  the  stove,  and  the  faint  sharp 
scent  of  the  geraniums  mingled  with  the  odour  of 
Ethan's  smoke,  which  began  to  throw  a  blue  haze 
about  the  lamp  and  to  hang  its  greyish  cobwebs* 
in  the  shadowy  corners  of  the  room. 

All  constraint  had  vanished  between  the  two,  and 
they  began  to  talk  easily  and  simply.  They  spoke 
of  every-day  things,  of  the  prospect  oF  snow,  of  the 
next  church  sociable,  of  the  loves  and  quarrels  of 
Starkfield.  The  commonplace  nature  of  what  they 
said  produced  in  Ethan  an  illusion  of  long-estab- 
lished intimacy  which  no  outburst  of  emotion  could 
have  given,  and  he  set  his  imagination  adrift  on 
the  fiction  that  they  had  always  spent  their  even- 
ings thus  and  would  always  go  on  doing  so  ... 

"  This  is  the  night  we  were  to  have  gone  coasting. 
Matt,"  he  said  at  length,  with  the  rich  sense,  as 
[97] 


ETHAN    FROME 

he  spoke,  that  they  could  go  on  any  other  night 
they  chose,  since  they  had  all  time  before  them. 

She  smiled  back  at  him.  "I  guess  you  forgot!" 

"No,  I  didn't  forget;  but  it's  as  dark  as  Egypt 
outdoors.  We  might  go  to-morrow  if  there's  a 
moon." 

She  laughed  with  pleasure,  her  head  tilted  back, 
the  lamplight  sparkling  on  her  lips  and  teeth. 
"That  would  be  lovely,  Ethan!" 

He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  her,  marvelling  at  the 
way  her  face  changed  with  each  turn  of  their  talk, 
like  a  wheat-field  under  a  summer  breeze.  It  was 
intoxicating  to  find  such  magic  in  his  clumsy  words, 
and  he  longed  to  try  new  ways  of  using  it. 

"Would  you  be  scared  to  go  down  the  Corbury 
road  wifh  me  on  a  night  like  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

Her  cheeks  burned  redder.  "I  ain't  any  more 
scared  than  you  are!" 

"Well,  I'd  be  scared,  then;  I  wouldn't  do  it. 

That's  an  ugly  corner  down  by  the  big  elm.  If  a 

fellow  didn't  keep  his  eyes  open  he'd  go  plumb 

into  it."  He  luxuriated  in  the  sense  of  protection 

[98] 


ETHAN    FROME 

and  authority  which  his  words  conveyed.  To  pro- 
long and  intensify  the  feeling  he  added:  "I  guess 
we're  well  enough  here." 

She  let  her  lids  sink  slowly,  in  the  way  he  loved. 
"Yes,  we're  well  enough  here,"  she  sighed. 

Her  tone  was  so  sweet  that  he  took  the  pipe  from 
his  mouth  and  drew  his  chair  up  to  the  table. 
Leaning  forward,  he  touched  the  farther  end  of  the 
strip  of  brown  stuff  that  she  was  hemming.  "  Say, 
Matt,"  he  began  with  a  smile,  "  what  do  you  think 
I  saw  under  the  Varnum  spruces,  coming  along 
home  just  now?  I  saw  a  friend  of  yours  getting 
kissed." 

The  words  had  been  on  his  tongue  all  the  evening, 
but  now  that  he  had  spoken  them  they  struck  him 
as  inexpressibly  vulgar  and  out  of  place. 

Mattie  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair  and 
pulled  her  needle  rapidly  twice  or  thrice  through 
her  work,  insensibly  drawing  the  end  of  it  away 
from  him.  "I  suppose  it  was  Ruth  and  Ned,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice,  as  though  he  had  suddenly 
touched  on  something  grave. 
[99] 


ETHAN    FROME 

Ethan  had  imagined  that  his  allusion  might  open 
the  way  to  the  accepted  pleasantries,  and  these  per- 
haps in  turn  to  a  harmless  caress,  if  only  a  mere 
touch  on  her  hand.  But  now  he  felt  as  if  her  blush 
had  set  a  flaming  guard  about  her.  He  supposed  it 
was  his  natural  awkwardness  that  made  him  feel 
so.  He  knew  that  most  young  men  made  nothing  at 
all  of  giving  a  pretty  girl  a  kiss,  and  he  remembered 
that  the  night  before,  when  he  had  put  his  arm 
about  Mattie,  she  had  not  resisted.  But  that  had 
been  out-of-doors,  under  the  open  irresponsible 
night.  Now,  in  the  warm  lamplit  room,  with  all  its 
ancient  implications  of  conformity  and  order,  she 
seemed  infinitely  farther  away  from  him  and  more 
unapproachable. 

To  ease  his  constraint  he  said :  "  I  suppose  they'll 
be  setting  a  date  before  long." 

"Yes.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they  got  married 
some  time  along  in  the  summer."  She  pronounced 
the  word  married  as  if  her  voice  caressed  it.  It 
seemed  a  rustling  covert  leading  to  enchanted 
glades.  A  pang  shot  through  Ethan,  and  he  said, 
[  100] 


ETHAN    FROME 

twisting  away  from  her  in  his  chair:  "It'll  be  your 
turn  next,  I  wouldn't  wonder." 

She  laughed  a  little  uncertainly.  "Why  do  you 
keep  on  saying  that?" 

He  echoed  her  laugh.  "I  guess  I  do  it  to  get 
used  to  the  idea." 

He  drew  up  to  the  table  again  and  she  sewed  on 
in  silence,  with  dropped  lashes,  while  he  sat  in  fas- 
cinated contemplation  of  the  way  in  which  her 
hands  went  up  and  down  above  the  strip  of  stuff, 
just  as  he  had  seen  a  pair  of  birds  make  short  per- 
pendicular flights  over  a  nest  they  were  building. 
At  length,  without  turning  her  head  or  lifting  her 
lids,  she  said  in  a  low  tone:  "It's  not  because  you 
think  Zeena's  got  anything  against  me,  is  it  ?  " 

His  former  dread  started  up  full-armed  at  the 
suggestion.  "  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  he  stam- 
mered. 

She  raised  distressed  eyes  to  his,  her  work  drop- 
ping on  the  table  between  them.  "  I  don't  know.  I 
thought  last  night  she  seemed  to  have." 

"I'd  like  to  know  what,"  he  growled. 
[101] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"Nobody  can  tell  with  Zeena."  It  was  the  first 
time  they  had  ever  spoken  so  openly  of  her  atti- 
tude toward  Mattie,  and  the  repetition  of  the  name 
seemed  to  carry  it  to  the  farther  corners  of  the 
room  and  send  it  back  to  them  in  long  repercus- 
sions of  sound.  Mattie  waited,  as  if  to  give  the  echo 
time  to  drop,  and  then  went  on:  "She  hasn't  said 
anything  to  you?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "No,  not  a  word." 
She  tossed  the  hair  back  from  her  forehead  with 
a  laugh.  "  I  guess  I'm  just  nervous,  then.  I'm  not 
going  to  think  about  it  any  more." 

"Oh,  no— don't  let's  think  about  it,  Matt!" 
The  sudden  heat  of  his  tone  made  her  colour 
mount  again,  not  with  a  rush,  but  gradually,  deli- 
cately, like  the  reflection  of  a  thought  stealing  slowly 
across  her  heart.  She  sat  silent,  her  hands  clasped 
on  her  work,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  a  warm  cur- 
rent flowed  toward  him  along  the  strip  of  stuff  that 
still  lay  unrolled  between  them.  Cautiously  he  slid 
his  hand  palm-downward  along  the  table  till  his 
finger-tips  touched  the  end  of  the  stuff.  A  faint 
[  102] 


ETHAN    FROME 

vibration  of  her  lashes  seemed  to  show  that  she  was 
aware  of  his  gesture,  and  that  it  had  sent  a  counter- 
current  back  to  her;  and  she  let  her  hands  lie  mo- 
tionless on  the  other  end  of  the  strip. 

As  they  sat  thus  he  heard  a  sound  behind  him 
and  turned  his  head.  The  cat  had  jumped  from 
Zeena's  chair  to  dart  at  a  mouse  in  the  wainscot, 
and  as  a  result  of  the  sudden  movement  the  empty 
chair  had  set  up  a  spectral  rocking. 

"  She'll  be  rocking  in  it  herself  this  time  to-mor- 
row," Ethan  thought.  "I've  been  in  a  dream,  and 
this  is  the  only  evening  we'll  ever  have  together." 
The  return  to  reality  was  as  painful  as  the  return 
to  consciousness  after  taking  an  anaesthetic.  His 
body  and  brain  ached  with  indescribable  weariness, 
and  he  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  or  to  do  that 
should  arrest  the  mad  flight  of  the  moments. 

His  alteration  of  mood  seemed  to  have  commu- 
nicated itself  to  Mattie.  She  looked  up  at  him  lan- 
guidly, as  though  her  lids  were  weighted  with  sleep 
and  it  cost  her  an  effort  to  raise  them.  Her  glance 
fell  on  his  hand,  which  now  completely  covered  the 
[103] 


ETHAN    FROME 

end  of  her  work  and  grasped  it  as  if  it  were  a  part 
of  herself.  He  saw  a  scarcely  perceptible  tremor 
cross  her  face,  and  without  knowing  what  he  did 
he  stooped  his  head  and  kissed  the  bit  of  stuff 
in  his  hold.  As  his  lips  rested  on  it  he  felt  it  glide 
slowly  from  beneath  them,  and  saw  that  Mattie 
had  risen  and  was  silently  rolling  up  her  work. 
She  fastened  it  with  a  pin,  and  then,  finding  her 
thimble  and  scissors,  put  them  with  the  roll  of 
stuff  into  the  box  covered  with  fancy  paper  which 
he  had  once  brought  to  her  from  Bettsbridge. 

He  stood  up  also,  looking  vaguely  about  the  room. 
The  clock  above  the  dresser  struck  eleven. 

"  Is  the  fire  all  right  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  stove  and  poked  aim- 
lessly at  the  embers.  When  he  raised  himself  again 
he  saw  that  she  was  dragging  toward  the  stove 
the  old  soap-box  lined  with  carpet  in  which  the  cat 
made  its  bed.  Then  she  recrossed  the  floor  and  lifted 
two  of  the  geranium  pots  in  her  arms,  moving  them 
away  from  the  cold  window.  He  followed  her  and 
brought  the  other  geraniums,  the  hyacinth  bulbs 
[104] 


ETHAN    FROME 

in  a  cracked  custard  bowl  and  the  German  ivy 
trained  over  an  old  croquet  hoop. 

When  these  nightly  duties  were  performed  there 
was  nothing  left  to  do  but  to  bring  in  the  tin  candle- 
stick from  the  passage,  light  the  candle  and  blow 
out  the  lamp.  Ethan  put  the  candlestick  in  Mat- 
tie's  hand  and  she  went  out  of  the  kitchen  ahead 
of  him,  the  light  that  she  carried  before  her  making 
her  dark  hair  look  like  a  drift  of  mist  on  the  moon. 

"  Good  night,  Matt,"  he  said  as  she  put  her  foot 
on  the  first  step  of  the  stairs. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  a  moment.  "  Good 
night,  Ethan,"  she  answered,  and  went  up. 

When  the  door  of  her  room  had  closed  on  her  he 
remembered  that  he  had  not  even  touched  her  hand. 


[  105] 


VI 


next  morning  at  breakfast  Jotham  Powell 
JL  was  between  them,  and  Ethan  tried  to  hide 
his  joy  under  an  air  of  exaggerated  indifference, 
lounging  back  in  his  chair  to  throw  scraps  to  the 
cat,  growling  at  the  weather,  and  not  so  much  as 
offering  to  help  Mattie  when  she  rose  to  clear  away 
the  dishes. 

He  did  not  know  why  he  was  so  irrationally 
happy,  for  nothing  was  changed  in  his  life  or  hers. 
He  had  not  even  touched  the  tip  of  her  fingers  or 
looked  her  full  in  the  eyes.  But  their  evening  to- 
gether had  given  him  a  vision  of  what  life  at  her 
side  might  be,  and  he  was  glad  now  that  he  had 
done  nothing  to  trouble  the  sweetness  of  the  pic- 
ture. He  had  a  fancy  that  she  knew  what  had  re- 
strained him  .  .  . 

There  was  a  last  load  of  lumber  to  be  hauled 
to  the  village,  and  Jotham  Powell — who  did  not 
work  regularly  for  Ethan  in  winter — had  "come 
[  106] 


ETHAN    FROME 

round  "  to  help  with  the  job.  But  a  wet  snow,  melt- 
ing to  sleet,  had  fallen  in  the  night  and  turned 
the  roads  to  glass.  There  was  more  wet  in  the 
air  and  it  seemed  likely  to  both  men  that  the 
weather  would  "milden"  toward  afternoon  and 
make  the  going  safer.  Ethan  therefore  proposed  to 
his  assistant  that  they  should  load  the  sledge  at  the 
wood-lot,  as  they  had  done  on  the  previous  morn- 
ing, and  put  off  the  "teaming"  to  Starkfield  till 
later  in  the  day.  This  plan  had  the  advantage  of  en- 
abling him  to  send  Jotham  to  the  Flats  after  dinner 
to  meet  Zenobia,  while  he  himself  took  the  lumber 
down  to  the  village. 

He  told  Jotham  to  go  out  and  harness  up  the 
grays,  and  for  a  moment  he  and  Mattie  had  the 
kitchen  to  themselves.  She  had  plunged  the  break- 
fast dishes  into  a  tin  dish-pan  and  was  bending 
above  it  with  her  slim  arms  bared  to  the  elbow, 
the  steam  from  the  hot  water  beading  her  forehead 
and  tightening  her  rough  hair  into  little  brown 
rings  like  the  tendrils  on  the  traveller's  joy. 

Ethan   stood  looking  at  her,   his  heart   in   his 

t  I"?] 


ETHAN    FROME 

throat.  He  wanted  to  say:  "  We  shall  never  be  alone 
again  like  this."  Instead,  he  reached  down  his 
tobacco-pouch  from  a  shelf  of  the  dresser,  put  it 
into  his  pocket  and  said :  "  I  guess  I  can  make  out 
to  be  home  for  dinner." 

She  answered  "All  right,  Ethan,"  and  he  heard 
her  singing  over  the  dishes  as  he  went. 

As  soon  as  the  sledge  was  loaded  he  meant  to 
send  Jotham  back  to  the  farm  and  hurry  on  foot 
into  the  village  to  buy  the  glue  for  the  pickle-dish. 
With  ordinary  luck  he  should  have  had  time  to  carry 
out  this  plan ;  but  everything  went  wrong  from  the 
start.  On  the  way  over  to  the  wood-lot  one  of  the 
grays  slipped  on  a  glare  of  ice  and  cut  his  knee; 
and  when  they  got  him  up  again  Jotham  had  to  go 
back  to  the  barn  for  a  strip  of  rag  to  bind  the  cut. 
Then,  when  the  loading  finally  began,  a  sleety  rain 
was  coming  down  once  more,  and  the  tree  trunks 
were  so  slippery  that  it  took  twice  as  long  as  usual 
to  lift  them  and  get  them  in  place  on  the  sledge. 
It  was  what  Jotham  called  a  sour  morning  for 
work,  and  the  horses,  shivering  and  stamping  under 

[  108] 


ETHAN    FROME 

their  wet  blankets,  seemed  to  like  it  as  little  as  the 
men.  It  was  long  past  the  dinner-hour  when  the 
job  was  done,  and  Ethan  had  to  give  up  going  to 
the  village  because  he  wanted  to  lead  the  injured 
horse  home  and  wash  the  cut  himself. 

He  thought  that  by  starting  out  again  with  the 
lumber  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  dinner  he 
might  get  back  to  the  farm  with  the  glue  before 
Jotham  and  the  old  sorrel  had  had  time  to  fetch 
Zenobia  from  the  Flats;  but  he  knew  the  chance 
was  a  slight  one.  It  turned  on  the  state  of  the  roads 
and  on  the  possible  lateness  of  the  Bettsbridge 
train.  He  remembered  afterward,  with  a  grim  flash 
of  self-derision,  what  importance  he  had  attached 
to  the  weighing  of  these  probabilities  .  .  . 

As  soon  as  dinner  was  over  he  set  out  again 
for  the  wood-lot,  not  daring  to  linger  till  Jotham 
Powell  left.  The  hired  man  was  still  drying  his  wet 
feet  at  the  stove,  and  Ethan  could  only  give  Mattie 
a  quick  look  as  he  said  beneath  his  breath:  "I'll 
be  back  early." 

He  fancied  that  she  nodded  her  comprehension; 
[  109] 


ETHAN    FROME 

and  with  that  scant  solace  he  had  to  trudge  off 
through  the  rain. 

He  had  driven  his  load  half-way  to  the  village 
when  Jotham  Powell  overtook  him,  urging  the 
reluctant  sorrel  toward  the  Flats.  "I'll  have  to 
hurry  up  to  do  it,"  Ethan  mused,  as  the  sleigh 
dropped  down  ahead  of  him  over  the  dip  of  the 
school-house  hill.  He  worked  like  ten  at  the  un- 
loading, and  when  it  was  over  hastened  on  to 
Michael  Eady's  for  the  glue.  Eady  and  his  assistant 
were  both  "down  street,"  and  young  Denis,  who 
seldom  deigned  to  take  their  place,  was  lounging 
by  the  stove  with  a  knot  of  the  golden  youth  of 
Starkfield.  They  hailed  Ethan  with  ironic  compli- 
ment and  offers  of  conviviality;  but  no  one  knew 
where  to  find  the  glue.  Ethan,  consumed  with  the 
longing  for  a  last  moment  alone  with  Mattie,  hung 
about  impatiently  while  Denis  made  an  ineffectual 
search  in  the  obscurer  corners  of  the  store. 

"Looks  as  if  we  were  all  sold  out.  But  if  you'll 
wait  around  till  the  old  man  comes  along  maybe  he 
can  put  his  hand  on  it." 

[  no] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"I'm  obliged  to  you,  but  I'll  try  if  I  can  get  it 
down  at  Mrs.  Roman's,"  Ethan  answered,  burning 
to  be  gone. 

Denis's  commercial  instinct  compelled  him  to 
aver  on  oath  that  what  Eady's  store  could  not  pro- 
duce would  never  be  found  at  the  widow  Homan's; 
but  Ethan,  heedless  of  this  boast,  had  already 
climbed  to  the  sledge  and  was  driving  on  to  the 
rival  establishment.  Here,  after  considerable  search, 
and  sympathetic  questions  as  to  what  he  wanted  it 
for,  and  whether  ordinary  flour  paste  wouldn't  do 
as  well  if  she  couldn't  find  it,  the  widow  Homan 
finally  hunted  down  her  solitary  bottle  of  glue  to 
its  hiding-place  in  a  medley  of  cough-lozenges  and 
corset-laces. 

"I  hope  Zeena  ain't  broken  anything  she  sets 
store  by,"  she  called  after  him  as  he  turned  the 
grays  toward  home. 

The  fitful  bursts  of  sleet  had  changed  into  a 
steady  rain  and  the  horses  had  heavy  work  even 
without  a  load  behind  them.  Once  or  twice,  hear- 
ing sleigh-bells,  Ethan  turned  his  head,  fancying 


ETHAN    FROME 

that  Zeena  and  Jotham  might  overtake  him;  but 
the  old  sorrel  was  not  in  sight,  and  he  set  his  face 
against  the  rain  and  urged  on  his  ponderous  pair. 

The  barn  was  empty  when  the  horses  turned 
into  it  and,  after  giving  them  the  most  perfunctory 
ministrations  they  had  ever  received  from  him,  he 
strode  up  to  the  house  and  pushed  open  the  kitchen 
door. 

Mattie  was  there  alone,  as  he  had  pictured  her. 
She  was  bending  over  a  pan  on  the  stove;  but  at  the 
sound  of  his  step  she  turned  with  a  start  and  sprang 
to  him. 

"  See,  here,  Matt,  I've  got  some  stuff  to  mend  the 
dish  with!  Let  me  get  at  it  quick,"  he  cried,  waving 
the  bottle  in  one  hand  while  he  put  her  lightly  aside; 
but  she  did  not  seem  to  hear  him. 

"Oh,  Ethan — Zeena's  come,"  she  said  in  a 
whisper,  clutching  his  sleeve. 

They  stood  and  stared  at  each  other,  pale  as 
culprits. 

"But  the  sorrel's  not  in  the  barn!"  Ethan 
stammered. 

[112] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"  Jotham  Powell  brought  some  goods  over  from 
the  Flats  for  his  wife,  and  he  drove  right  on  home 
with  them,"  she  explained. 

He  gazed  blankly  about  the  kitchen,  which  looked 
cold  and  squalid  in  the  rainy  winter  twilight. 

"  How  is  she  ? "  he  asked,  dropping  his  voice  to 
Mattie's  whisper. 

She  looked  away  from  him  uncertainly.  "  I  don't 
know.  She  went  right  up  to  her  room." 

"She  didn't  say  anything?" 

"No." 

Ethan  let  out  his  doubts  in  a  low  whistle  and 
thrust  the  bottle  back  into  his  pocket.  "Don't  fret; 
I'll  come  down  and  mend  it  in  the  night,"  he  said. 
He  pulled  on  his  wet  coat  again  and  went  back 
to  the  barn  to  feed  the  grays. 

While  he  was  there  Jotham  Powell  drove  up 
with  the  sleigh,  and  when  the  horses  had  been 
attended  to  Ethan  said  to  him:  "You  might  as 
well  come  back  up  for  a  bite."  He  was  not  sorry  to 
assure  himself  of  Jotham's  neutralising  presence  at 
the  supper  table,  for  Zeena  was  always  "nervous" 
[113] 


ETHAN    FROME 

after  a  journey.  But  the  hired  man,  though  seldom 
loth  to  accept  a  meal  not  included  in  his  wages, 
opened  his  stiff  jaws  to  answer  slowly:  "I'm  obliged 
to  you,  but  I  guess  I'll  go  along  back." 

Ethan  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "Better  come 
up  and  dry  off.  Looks  as  if  there'd  be  something 
hot  for  supper." 

Jotham's  facial  muscles  were  unmoved  by  this 
appeal  and,  his  vocabulary  being  limited,  he  merely 
repeated:  "I  guess  I'll  go  along  back." 

To  Ethan  there  was  something  vaguely  ominous 
in  this  stolid  rejection  of  free  food  and  warmth,  and 
he  wondered  what  had  happened  on  the  drive  to 
nerve  Jotham  to  such  stoicism.  Perhaps  Zeena  had 
failed  to  see  the  new  doctor  or  had  not  liked  his 
counsels:  Ethan  knew  that  in  such  cases  the  first 
person  she  met  was  likely  to  be  held  responsible 
for  her  grievance. 

When  he  re-entered  the  kitchen  the  lamp  lit  up 
the  same  scene  of  shining  comfort  as  on  the  pre- 
vious evening.  The  table  had  been  as  carefully  laid, 
a  clear  fire  glowed  in  the  stove,  the  cat  dozed  in  its 
[114] 


ETHAN    FROME 

warmth,  and  Mattie  came  forward  carrying  a  plate 
of  dough-nuts. 

She  and  Ethan  looked  at  each  other  in  silence; 
then  she  said,  as  she  had  said  the  night  before: 
"  I  guess  it's  about  time  for  supper." 


[115] 


VII 

ETHAN  went  out  into  the  passage  to  hang  up 
his  wet  garments.  He  listened  for  Zeena's 
step  and,  not  hearing  it,  called  her  name  up  the 
stairs.  She  did  not  answer,  and  after  a  moment's 
hesitation  he  went  up  and  opened  her  door.  The 
room  was  almost  dark,  but  in  the  obscurity  he  saw 
her  sitting  by  the  window,  bolt  upright,  and  knew 
by  the  rigidity  of  the  outline  projected  against  the 
pane  that  she  had  not  taken  off  her  travelling 
dress. 

"Well,  Zeena,"  he  ventured  from  the  threshold. 

She  did  not  move,  and  he  continued:  "Supper's 
about  ready.  Ain't  you  coming  ? " 

She  replied:  "I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  touch  a 
morsel." 

It  was  the  consecrated  formula,  and  he  expected 
it  to  be  followed,  as  usual,  by  her  rising  and  going 
down  to  supper.  But  she  remained  seated,  and  he 
[116] 


ETHAN    FROME 

could  think  of  nothing  more  felicitous  than:  "I 
presume  you're  tired  after  the  long  ride." 

Turning  her  head  at  this,  she  answered  solemnly: 
"  I'm  a  great  deal  sicker  than  you  think." 

Her  words  fell  on  his  ear  with  a  strange  shock 
of  wonder.  He  had  often  heard  her  pronounce  them 
before — what  if  at  last  they  were  true? 

He  advanced  a  step  or  two  into  the  dim  room. 
"I  hope  that's  not  so,  Zeena,"  he  said. 

She  continued  to  gaze  at  him  through  the  twi- 
light with  a  mien  of  wan  authority,  as  of  one  con- 
sciously singled  out  for  a  great  fate.  "  I've  got  com- 
plications," she  said. 

Ethan  knew  the  word  for  one  of  exceptional 
import.  Almost  everybody  in  the  neighbourhood 
had  "troubles,"  frankly  localized  and  specified;  but 
only  the  chosen  had  "complications."  To  have 
them  was  in  itself  a  distinction,  though  it  was  also, 
in  most  cases,  a  death-warrant.  People  struggled  on 
for  years  with  "troubles,"  but  they  almost  always 
succumbed  to  "  complications." 

Ethan's  heart  was  jerking  to  and  fro  between  two 


ETHAN    FRO  ME 

extremities  of  feeling,  but  for  the  moment  compas- 
sion prevailed.  His  wife  looked  so  hard  and  lonely, 
sitting  there  in  the  darkness  with  such  thoughts. 

"Is  that  what  the  new  doctor  told  you?"  he 
asked,  instinctively  lowering  his  voice. 

"Yes.  He  says  any  regular  doctor  would  want 
me  to  have  an  operation." 

Ethan  was  aware  that,  in  regard  to  the  important 
question  of  surgical  intervention,  the  female  opinion 
of  the  neighbourhood  was  divided,  some  glorying  in 
the  prestige  conferred  by  operations  while  others 
shunned  them  as  indelicate.  Ethan,  from  motives 
of  economy,  had  always  been  glad  that  Zeena  was 
of  the  latter  faction. 

In  the  agitation  caused  by  the  gravity  of  her 
announcement  he  sought  a  consolatory  short  cut. 
"What  do  you  know  about  this  doctor  anyway? 
Nobody  ever  told  you  that  before." 

He  saw  his  blunder  before  she  could  take  it  up: 
she  wanted  sympathy,  not  consolation. 

"I  didn't  need  to  have  anybody  tell  me  I  was 
losing  ground  every  day.  Everybody  but  you  could 
[  US] 


ETHAN    FROME 

see  it.  And  everybody  in  Bettsbridge  knows  about 
Dr.  Buck.  He  has  his  office  in  Worcester,  and  comes 
over  once  a  fortnight  to  Shadd's  Falls  and  Betts- 
bridge for  consultations.  Eliza  Spears  was  wast- 
ing away  with  kidney  trouble  before  she  went  to 
him,  and  now  she's  up  and  around,  and  singing  in 
the  choir." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  of  that.  You  must  do  just  what 
he  tells  you,"  Ethan  answered  sympathetically. 

She  was  still  looking  at  him.  "I  mean  to,"  she 
said.  He  was  struck  by  a  new  note  in  her  voice. 
It  was  neither  whining  nor  reproachful,  but  drily 
resolute. 

"  What  does  he  want  you  should  do  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  a  mounting  vision  of  fresh  expenses. 

"He  wants  I  should  have  a  hired  girl.  He  says 
I  oughtn't  to  have  to  do  a  single  thing  around  the 
house." 

"A  hired  girl  ?"  Ethan  stood  transfixed. 

"  Yes.  And  Aunt  Martha  found  me  one  right  off. 
Everybody  said  I  was  lucky  to  get  a  girl  to  come 
away  out  here,  and  I  agreed  to  give  her  a  dollar 
[119] 


ETHAN    FRO  ME 

extry  to  make  sure.  She'll  be  over  to-morrow  after- 
noon." 

Wrath  and  dismay  contended  in  Ethan.  He  had 
foreseen  an  immediate  demand  for  money,  but  not 
a  permanent  drain  on  his  scant  resources.  He  no 
longer  believed  what  Zeena  had  told  him  of  the 
supposed  seriousness  of  her  state:  he  saw  in  her 
expedition  to  Bettsbridge  only  a  plot  hatched  be- 
tween herself  and  her  Pierce  relations  to  foist  on 
him  the  cost  of  a  servant;  and  for  the  moment 
wrath  predominated. 

"If  you  meant  to  engage  a  girl  you  ought  to 
have  told  me  before  you  started,"  he  said. 

"  How  could  I  tell  you  before  I  started  ?  How  did 
I  know  what  Dr.  Buck  would  say  ?  " 

"Oh,  Dr.  Buck—"  Ethan's  incredulity  escaped 
in  a  short  laugh.  "  Did  Dr.  Buck  tell  you  how  I  was 
to  pay  her  wages  ? " 

Her  voice  rose  furiously  with  his.  "  No,  he  didn't. 
For  I'd  'a'  been  ashamed  to  tell  him  that  you 
grudged  me  the  money  to  get  back  my  health,  when 
I  lost  it  nursing  your  own  mother!" 
[  120] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"  You  lost  your  health  nursing  mother  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  my  folks  all  told  me  at  the  time  you 
couldn't  do  no  less  than  marry  me  after " 

"Zeena!" 

Through  the  obscurity  which  hid  their  faces  their 
thoughts  seemed  to  dart  at  each  other  like  serpents 
shooting  venom.  Ethan  was  seized  with  horror  of 
the  scene  and  shame  at  his  own  share  in  it.  It  was 
as  senseless  and  savage  as  a  physical  fight  between 
two  enemies  in  the  darkness. 

He  turned  to  the  shelf  above  the  chimney,  groped 
for  matches  and  lit  the  one  candle  in  the  room. 
At  first  its  weak  flame  made  no  impression  on  the 
shadows;  then  Zeena's  face  stood  grimly  out  against 
the  uncurtained  pane,  which  had  turned  from  gray 
to  black. 

It  was  the  first  scene  of  open  anger  between  the 
couple  in  their  sad  seven  years  together,  and  Ethan 
felt  as  if  he  had  lost  an  irretrievable  advantage  in 
descending  to  the  level  of  recrimination.  But  the 
practical  problem  was  there  and  had  to  be  dealt 
with. 

[121] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"  You  know  I  haven't  got  the  money  to  pay  for  a 
girl,  Zeena.  You'll  have  to  send  her  back:  I  can't 
do  it." 

"The  doctor  says  it'll  be  my  death  if  I  go  on 
slaving  the  way  I've  had  to.  He  doesn't  understand 
how  I've  stood  it  as  long  as  I  have." 

"Slaving! — "  He  checked  himself  again,  "You 
sha'n't  lift  a  hand,  if  he  says  so.  I'll  do  everything 
round  the  house  myself " 

She  broke  in :  "  You're  neglecting  the  farm  enough 
already,"  and  this  being  true,  he  found  no  answer, 
and  left  her  time  to  add  ironically:  "Better  send 
me  over  to  the  almshouse  and  done  with  it ...  I 
guess  there's  been  Fromes  there  afore  now." 

The  taunt  burned  into  him,  but  he  let  it  pass. 
"I  haven't  got  the  money.  That  settles  it." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  in  the  struggle,  as 
though  the  combatants  were  testing  their  weapons. 
Then  Zeena  said  in  a  level  voice:  "I  thought  you 
were  to  get  fifty  dollars  from  Andrew  Hale  for  that 
lumber." 

"Andrew  Hale  never  pays  under  three  months." 
t 


ETHAN    FROME 

He  had  hardly  spoken  when  he  remembered  the 
excuse  he  had  made  for  not  accompanying  his  wife 
to  the  station  the  day  before;  and  the  blood  rose  to 
his  frowning  brows. 

"Why,  you  told  me  yesterday  you'd  fixed  it  up 
with  him  to  pay  cash  down.  You  said  that  was  why 
you  couldn't  drive  me  over  to  the  Flats." 

Ethan  had  no  suppleness  in  deceiving.  He  had 
never  before  been  convicted  of  a  lie,  and  all  the 
resources  of  evasion  failed  him.  "  I  guess  that  was  a 
misunderstanding,"  he  stammered. 

"You  ain't  got  the  money?" 

"No." 

"And  you  ain't  going  to  get  it?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  I  couldn't  know  that  when  I  engaged  the 
girl,  could  I?" 

"  No."  He  paused  to  control  his  voice.  "  But  you 
know  it  now.  I'm  sorry,  but  it  can't  be  helped. 
You're  a  poor  man's  wife,  Zeena;  but  I'll  do  the 
best  I  can  for  you." 

For  a  while  she  sat  motionless,  as  if  reflecting, 
[123] 


ETHAN    FROME 

her  arms  stretched  along  the  arms  of  her  chair,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  vacancy.  "Oh,  I  guess  we'll  make 
out,"  she  said  mildly. 

The  change  in  her  tone  reassured  him.  "Of 
course  we  will!  There's  a  whole  lot  more  I  can  do 
for  you,  and  Mattie " 

Zeena,  while  he  spoke,  seemed  to  be  following 
out  some  elaborate  mental  calculation.  She  emerged 
from  it  to  say:  "There'll  be  Mattie's  board  less, 
anyhow " 

Ethan,  supposing  the  discussion  to  be  over,  had 
turned  to  go  down  to  supper.  He  stopped  short,  not 
grasping  what  he  heard.  "  Mattie's  board  less —  ? " 
he  began. 

Zeena  laughed.  It  was  an  odd  unfamiliar  sound 
— he  did  not  remember  ever  having  heard  her  laugh 
before.  "You  didn't  suppose  I  was  going  to  keep 
two  girls,  did  you  ?  No  wonder  you  were  scared  at 
the  expense!" 

He  still  had  but  a  confused  sense  of  what  she 
was  saying.  From  the  beginning  of  the  discussion 
he  had  instinctively  avoided  the  mention  of  Mattie's 


ETHAN    FROME 

name,  fearing  he  hardly  knew  what :  criticism,  com- 
plaints, or  vague  allusions  to  the  imminent  proba- 
bility of  her  marrying.  But  the  thought  of  a  definite 
rupture  had  never  come  to  him,  and  even  now 
could  not  lodge  itself  in  his  mind. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said.  "  Mat- 
tie  Silver's  not  a  hired  girl.  She's  your  relation." 

"  She's  a  pauper  that's  hung  onto  us  all  after  her 
father'd  done  his  best  to  ruin  us.  I've  kep'  her  here 
a  whole  year:  it's  somebody  else's  turn  now." 

As  the  shrill  words  shot  out  Ethan  heard  a  tap 
on  the  door,  which  he  had  drawn  shut  when  he 
turned  back  from  the  threshold. 

"Ethan — Zeena!"  Mattie's  voice  sounded  gaily 
from  the  landing,  "do  you  know  what  time  it  is? 
Supper's  been  ready  half  an  hour." 

Inside  the  room  there  was  a  moment's  silence; 
then  Zeena  called  out  from  her  seat:  "I'm  not 
coming  down  to  supper." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry!  Aren't  you  well  ?  Sha'n't  I  bring 
you  up  a  bite  of  something?" 

Ethan  roused  himself  with  an  effort  and  opened 
[125] 


ETHAN    FROME 

the  door.  "Go  along  down,  Matt.  Zeena's  just  a 
little  tired.  I'm  coming.'* 

He  heard  her  "All  right!"  and  her  quick  step  on 
the  stairs;  then  he  shut  the  door  and  turned  back 
into  the  room.  His  wife's  attitude  was  unchanged, 
her  face  inexorable,  and  he  was  seized  with  the 
despairing  sense  of  his  helplessness. 

"  You  ain't  going  to  do  it,  Zeena  ?  " 

"Do  what?"  she  emitted  between  flattened  lips. 

"Send  Mattie  away— like  this?" 

"I  never  bargained  to  take  her  for  life! " 

He  continued  with  rising  vehemence :  "  You  can't 
put  her  out  of  the  house  like  a  thief — a  poor  girl 
without  friends  or  money.  She's  done  her  best  for 
you  and  she's  got  no  place  to  go  to.  You  may  for- 
get she's  your  kin  but  everybody  else'll  remember 
it.  If  you  do  a  thing  like  that  what  do  you  sup- 
pose f olks'll  say  of  you  ?  " 

Zeena  waited  a  moment,  as  if  giving  him  time 
to  feel  the  full  force  of  the  contrast  between  his 
own  excitement  and  her  composure.  Then  she  re- 
plied in  the  same  smooth  voice:  "I  know  well 
[  126] 


ETHAN    FROME 

enough  what  they  say  of  my  having  kep'  her  here 
as  long  as  I  have." 

Ethan's  hand  dropped  from  the  door-knob,  which 
he  had  held  clenched  since  he  had  drawn  the  door 
shut  on  Mattie.  His  wife's  retort  was  like  a  knife- 
cut  across  the  sinews  and  he  felt  suddenly  weak  and 
powerless.  He  had  meant  to  humble  himself,  to 
argue  that  Mattie's  keep  didn't  cost  much,  after 
all,  that  he  could  make  out  to  buy  a  stove  and  fix 
up  a  place  in  the  attic  for  the  hired  girl — but 
Zeena's  words  revealed  the  peril  of  such  plead- 
ings. 

"  You  mean  to  tell  her  she's  got  to  go — at  once  ?  " 
he  faltered  out,  in  terror  of  letting  his  wife  complete 
her  sentence. 

As  if  trying  to  make  him  see  reason  she  replied 
impartially;  "The  girl  will  be  over  from  Bettsbridge 
to-morrow,  and  I  presume  she's  got  to  have  some- 
wheres  to  sleep." 

Ethan  looked  at  her  with  loathing.  She  was  no 
longer  the  listless  creature  who  had  lived  at  his 
side  in  a  state  of  sullen  self-absorption,  but  a  mys- 
[127] 


ETHAN    FROME 

terious  alien  presence,  an  evil  energy  secreted  from 
the  long  years  of  silent  brooding.  It  was  the  sense 
of  his  helplessness  that  sharpened  his  antipathy. 
There  had  never  been  anything  in  her  that  one 
could  appeal  to ;  but  as  long  as  he  could  ignore  and 
command  he  had  remained  indifferent.  Now  she 
had  mastered  him  and  he  abhorred  her.  Mattie  was 
her  relation,  not  his:  there  were  no  means  by  which 
he  could  compel  her  to  keep  the  girl  under  her 
roof.  All  the  long  misery  of  his  baffled  past,  of  his 
youth  of  failure,  hardship  and  vain  effort,  rose  up 
in  his  soul  in  bitterness  and  seemed  to  take  shape 
before  him  in  the  woman  who  at  every  turn  had 
barred  his  way.  She  had  taken  everything  else  from 
him;  and  now  she  meant  to  take  the  one  thing 
that  made  up  for  all  the  others.  For  a  moment  such 
a  flame  of  hate  rose  in  him  that  it  ran  down  his 
arm  and  clenched  his  fist  against  her.  He  took  a 
wild  step  forward  and  then  stopped. 

"  You're  — you're  not  coming  down  ?  "  he  said  in 
a  bewildered  voice. 

"No.  I  guess  I'll  lay  down  on  the  bed  a  little 
[  128] 


ETHAN    FROME 

while,"  she  answered  mildly;  and  he  turned  and 
walked  out  of  the  room. 

In  the  kitchen  Mattie  was  sitting  by  the  stove, 
the  cat  curled  up  on  her  knees.  She  sprang  to  her 
feet  as  Ethan  entered  and  carried  the  covered  dish 
of  meat-pie  to  the  table. 

"I  hope  Zeena  isn't  sick?"  she  asked. 

"No." 

She  shone  at  him  across  the  table.  "Well,  sit 
right  down  then.  You  must  be  starving."  She  un- 
covered the  pie  and  pushed  it  over  to  him.  So  they 
were  to  have  one  more  evening  together,  her  happy 
eyes  seemed  to  say! 

He  helped  himself  mechanically  and  began  to  eat; 
then  disgust  took  him  by  the  throat  and  he  laid 
down  his  fork. 

Mattie's  tender  gaze  was  on  him  and  she  marked 
the  gesture. 

"Why,  Ethan,  what's  the  matter?  Don't  it  taste 
right?" 

"Yes— it's  first-rate.  Only  I—"  He  pushed  his 
plate  away,  rose  from  his  chair,  and  walked  around 
[  129  ] 


ETHAN    FROME 

the  table  to  her  side.  She  started  up  with  frightened 
eyes. 

"Ethan,  there's  something  wrong!  I  knew  there 
was!" 

She  seemed  to  melt  against  him  in  her  terror, 
and  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  held  her  fast  there, 
felt  her  lashes  beat  his  cheek  like  netted  butterflies. 

"What  is  it — what  is  it?"  she  stammered;  but 
he  had  found  her  lips  at  last  and  was  drinking  un- 
consciousness of  everything  but  the  joy  they  gave 
him. 

She  lingered  a  moment,  caught  in  the  same 
strong  current;  then  she  slipped  from  him  and 
drew  back  a  step  or  two,  pale  and  troubled.  Her 
look  smote  him  with  compunction,  and  he  cried 
out,  as  if  he  saw  her  drowning  in  a  dream:  "You 
can't  go,  Matt!  I'll  never  let  you!" 

"  Go— go  ?"  she  stammered.  "  Must  I  go  ?" 

The  words  went  on  sounding  between  them  as 
though  a  torch  of  warning  flew  from  hand  to  hand 
through  a  black  landscape. 

Ethan  was  overcome  with  shame  at  his  lack  of 
[130] 


ETHAN    FROME 

self-control  in  flinging  the  news  at  her  so  brutally. 
His  head  reeled  and  he  had  to  support  himself 
against  the  table.  All  the  while  he  felt  as  if  he  were 
still  kissing  her,  and  yet  dying  of  thirst  for  her  lips. 

"Ethan  what  has  happened?  Is  Zeena  mad 
with  me?" 

Her  cry  steadied  him,  though  it  deepened  his 
wrath  and  pity.  "  No,  no,"  he  assured  her,  "  it's  not 
that.  But  this  new  doctor  has  scared  her  about 
herself.  You  know  she  believes  all  they  say  the 
first  time  she  sees  them.  And  this  one's  told  her 
she  won't  get  well  unless  she  lays  up  and  don't  do 
a  thing  about  the  house — not  for  months " 

He  paused,  his  eyes  wandering  from  her  miser- 
ably. She  stood  silent  a  moment,  drooping  before 
him  like  a  broken  branch.  She  was  so  smal  and 
weak-looking  that  it  wrung  his  heart;  but  suddenly 
she  lifted  her  head  and  looked  straight  at  him. 
"And  she  wants  somebody  handier  in  my  place? 
Is  that  it?" 

"That's  what  she  says  to-night." 

"If  she  says  it  to-night  she'll  say  it  to-morrow." 
[131] 


ETHAN    FROME 

Both  bowed  to  the  inexorable  truth:  they  knew 
that  Zeena  never  changed  her  mind,  and  that  in 
her  case  a  resolve  once  taken  was  equivalent  to 
an  act  performed. 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them;  then 
Mattie  said  in  a  low  voice:  "Don't  be  too  sorry, 
Ethan." 

"Oh,  God— oh,  God,"  he  groaned.  The  glow  of 
passion  he  had  felt  for  her  had  melted  to  an  aching 
tenderness.  He  saw  her  quick  lids  beating  back  the 
tears,  and  longed  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  soothe 
her. 

"You're  letting  your  supper  get  cold,"  she  ad- 
monished him  with  a  pale  gleam  of  gaiety. 

"Oh,  Matt— Matt— where'll  you  go  to?" 

Her  lids  sank  and  a  tremor  crossed  her  face. 
He  saw  that  for  the  first  time  the  thought  of  the 
future  came  to  her  distinctly.  "I  might  get  some- 
thing to  do  over  at  Stamford,"  she  faltered,  as  if 
knowing  that  he  knew  she  had  no  hope. 

He  dropped  back  into  his  seat  and  hid  his  face 
in  his  hands.  Despair  seized  him  at  the  thought  of 
[132] 


ETHAN    FROME 

her  setting  out  alone  to  renew  the  weary  quest  for 
work.  In  the  only  place  where  she  was  known  she 
was  surrounded  by  indifference  or  animosity;  and 
what  chance  had  she,  inexperienced  and  untrained, 
among  the  million  bread-seekers  of  the  cities? 
There  came  back  to  him  miserable  tales  he  had 
heard  at  Worcester,  and  the  faces  of  girls  whose 
lives  had  begun  as  hopefully  as  Mattie's.  ...  It 
was  not  possible  to  think  of  such  things  without  a 
revolt  of  his  whole  being.  He  sprang  up  suddenly. 

"You  can't  go,  Matt!  I  won't  let  you!  She's 
always  had  her  way,  but  I  mean  to  have  mine 
now " 

Mattie  lifted  her  hand  with  a  quick  gesture,  and 
he  heard  his  wife's  step  behind  him. 

Zeena  came  into  the  room  with  her  dragging 
down-at-the-heel  step,  and  quietly  took  her  accus- 
tomed seat  between  them. 

"I  felt  a  little  mite  better,  and  Dr.  Buck  says  I 

ought  to  eat  all  I  can  to  keep  my  stren'th  up,  even 

if  I  ain't  got  any  appetite,"  she  said  in  her  flat 

whine,  reaching  across  Mattie  for  the  teapot.  Her 

[  133] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"  good  "  dress  had  been  replaced  by  the  black  calico 
and  brown  knitted  shawl  which  formed  her  daily 
wear,  and  with  them  she  had  put  on  her  usual  face 
and  manner.  She  poured  out  her  tea,  added  a  great 
deal  of  milk  to  it,  helped  herself  largely  to  pie  and 
pickles,  and  made  the  familiar  gesture  of  adjusting 
her  false  teeth  before  she  began  to  eat.  The  cat 
rubbed  itself  ingratiatingly  against  her,  and  she 
said  "  Good  Pussy,"  stooped  to  stroke  it  and  gave 
it  a  scrap  of  meat  from  her  plate. 

Ethan  sat  speechless,  not  pretending  to  eat,  but 
Mattie  nibbled  valiantly  at  her  food  and  asked 
Zeena  one  or  two  questions  about  her  visit  to  Betts- 
bridge.  Zeena  answered  in  her  every-day  tone  and, 
warming  to  the  theme,  regaled  them  with  several 
vivid  descriptions  of  intestinal  disturbances  among 
her  friends  and  relatives.  She  looked  straight  at  Mat- 
tie  as  she  spoke,  a  faint  smile  deepening  the  verti- 
cal lines  between  her  nose  and  chin. 

When  supper  was  over  she  rose  from  her  seat 
and  pressed  her  hand  to  the  flat  surface  over  the 
region  of  her  heart.  "  That  pie  of  yours  always  sets 
[134] 


ETHAN    FROME 

a  mite  heavy,  Matt,"  she  said,  not  ill-naturedly. 
She  seldom  abbreviated  the  girl's  name,  and  when 
she  did  so  it  was  always  a  sign  of  affability. 

"I've  a  good  mind  to  go  and  hunt  up  those 
stomach  powders  I  got  last  year  over  in  Spring- 
field," she  continued.  "I  ain't  tried  them  for 
quite  a  while,  and  maybe  they'll  help  the  heart- 
burn." 

Mattie  lifted  her  eyes.  "Can't  I  get  them  for 
you,  Zeena?"  she  ventured. 

"  No.  They're  in  a  place  you  don't  know  about," 
Zeena  answered  darkly,  with  one  of  her  secret 
looks. 

She  went  out  of  the  kitchen  and  Mattie,  rising, 
began  to  clear  the  dishes  from  the  table.  As  she 
passed  Ethan's  chair  their  eyes  met  and  clung  to- 
gether desolately.  The  warm  still  kitchen  looked  as 
peaceful  as  the  night  before.  The  cat  had  sprung  to 
Zeena's  rocking-chair,  and  the  heat  of  the  fire  was 
beginning  to  draw  out  the  faint  sharp  scent  of  the 
geraniums.  Ethan  dragged  himself  wearily  to  his 
feet. 

[  135] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"I'll  go  out  and  take  a  look  round,"  he  said, 
going  toward  the  passage  to  get  his  lantern. 

As  he  reached  the  door  he  met  Zeena  coming  back 
into  the  room,  her  lips  twitching  with  anger,  a  flush 
of  excitement  on  her  sallow  face.  The  shawl  had 
slipped  from  her  shoulders  and  was  dragging  at  her 
down-trodden  heels,  and  in  her  hands  she  carried 
the  fragments  of  the  red  glass  pickle-dish. 

"I'd  like  to  know  who  done  this,"  she  said, 
looking  sternly  from  Ethan  to  Mattie. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  she  continued  in  a 
trembling  voice:  "I  went  to  get  those  powders  I'd 
put  away  in  father's  old  spectacle-case,  top  of  the 
china-closet,  where  I  keep  the  things  I  set  store  by, 
so's  folks  sha'n't  meddle  with  them — "  Her  voice 
broke,  and  two  small  tears  hung  on  her  lashless 
lids  and  ran  slowly  down  her  cheeks.  "  It  takes  the 
step-ladder  to  get  at  the  top  shelf,  and  I  put  Aunt 
Philura  Maple's  pickle-dish  up  there  o'  purpose 
when  we  was  married,  and  it's  never  been  down 
since,  'cept  for  the  spring  cleaning,  and  then  I 
always  lifted  it  with  my  own  hands,  so's  't  it 
[136] 


ETHAN    FROME 

shouldn't  get  broke."  She  laid  the  fragments  rever- 
ently on  the  table.  "  I  want  to  know  who  done  this," 
she  quavered. 

At  the  challenge  Ethan  turned  back  into  the 
room  and  faced  her.  "  I  can  tell  you,  then.  The  cat 
done  it." 

"The  cat?" 

"That's  what  I  said." 

She  looked  at  him  hard,  and  then  turned  her 
eyes  to  Mattie,  who  was  carrying  the  dish-pan  to 
the  table. 

"  I'd  like  to  know  how  the  cat  got  into  my  china- 
closet,"  she  said. 

"  Chasin'  mice,  I  guess,"  Ethan  rejoined.  "  There 
was  a  mouse  round  the  kitchen  all  last  evening." 

Zeena  continued  to  look  from  one  to  the  other; 
then  she  emitted  her  small  strange  laugh.  "I  knew 
the  cat  was  a  smart  cat,"  she  said  in  a  high  voice, 
"  but  I  didn't  know  he  was  smart  enough  to  pick 
up  the  pieces  of  my  pickle-dish  and  lay  'em  edge 
to  edge  on  the  very  shelf  he  knocked  'em  off  of." 

Mattie  suddenly  drew  her  arms  out  of  the  steam- 
[137] 


ETHAN    FROME 

ing  water.  "It  wasn't  Ethan's  fault,  Zeena!  The 
cat  did  break  the  dish;  but  I  got  it  down  from  the 
china-closet,  and  I'm  the  one  to  blame  for  its 
getting  broken." 

Zeena  stood  beside  the  ruin  of  her  treasure, 
stiffening  into  a  stony  image  of  resentment.  "  You 
got  down  my  pickle-dish — what  for  ?  " 

A  bright  flush  flew  to  Mattie's  cheeks.  "  I  wanted 
to  make  the  supper-table  pretty,"  she  said. 

"You  wanted  to  make  the  supper-table  pretty; 
and  you  waited  till  my  back  was  turned,  and  took 
the  thing  I  set  most  store  by  of  anything  I've  got, 
and  wouldn't  never  use  it,  not  even  when  the  minis- 
ter come  to  dinner,  or  Aunt  Martha  Pierce  come 
over  from  Bettsbridge — "  Zeena  paused  with  a 
gasp,  as  if  terrified  by  her  own  evocation  of  the 
sacrilege.  "You're  a  bad  girl,  Mattie  Silver,  and  I 
always  known  it.  It's  the  way  your  father  begun, 
and  I  was  warned  of  it  when  I  took  you,  and  I 
tried  to  keep  my  things  where  you  couldn't  get  at 
'em — and  now  you've  took  from  me  the  one  I  cared 
for  most  of  all — "  She  broke  off  in  a  short  spasm 
[  138] 


ETHAN    FROME 

of  sobs  that  passed  and  left  her  more  than  ever 
like  a  shape  of  stone. 

"  If  I'd  'a'  listened  to  folks,  you'd  'a*  gone  before 
now,  and  this  wouldn't  'a*  happened,"  she  said; 
and  gathering  up  the  bits  of  broken  glass  she  went 
out  of  the  room  as  if  she  carried  a  dead  body  .  .  . 


[139] 


VIII 

WHEN  Ethan  was  called  back  to  the  farm 
by  his  father's  illness  his  mother  gave  him, 
for  his  own  use,  a  small  room  behind  the  unten- 
anted  "  best  parlour."  Here  he  had  nailed  up  shelves 
for  his  books,  built  himself  a  box-sofa  out  of  boards 
and  a  mattress,  laid  out  his  papers  on  a  kitchen- 
table,  hung  on  the  rough  plaster  wall  an  engraving  of 
Abraham  Lincoln  and  a  calendar  with  "Thoughts 
from  the  Poets,"  and  tried,  with  these  meagre  prop- 
erties to  produce  some  likeness  to  the  study  of  a 
"minister"  who  had  been  kind  to  him  and  lent 
him  books  when  he  was  at  Worcester.  He  still  took 
refuge  there  in  summer,  but  when  Mattie  came  to 
live  at  the  farm  he  had  had  to  give  her  his  stove, 
and  consequently  the  room  was  uninhabitable  for 
several  months  of  the  year. 

To  this  retreat  he  descended  as  soon  as  the  house 
was  quiet,  and  Zeena's  steady  breathing  from  the 
[  140] 


ETHAN    FROME 

bed  had  assured  him  that  there  was  to  be  no  sequel 
to  the  scene  in  the  kitchen.  After  Zeena's  departure 
he  and  Mattie  had  stood  speechless,  neither  seek- 
ing to  approach  the  other.  Then  the  girl  had  re- 
turned to  her  task  of  clearing  up  the  kitchen  for  the 
night  and  he  had  taken  his  lantern  and  gone  on  his 
usual  round  outside  the  house.  The  kitchen  was 
empty  when  he  came  back  to  it;  but  his  tobacco- 
pouch  and  pipe  had  been  laid  on  the  table,  and  un- 
der them  was  a  scrap  of  paper  torn  from  the  back 
of  a  seedsman's  catalogue,  on  which  three  words 
were  written:  "Don't  trouble,  Ethan." 

Going  into  his  cold  dark  "  study "  he  placed  the 
lantern  on  the  table  and,  stooping  to  its  light,  read 
the  message  again  and  again.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  Mattie  had  ever  written  to  him,  and  the  pos- 
session of  the  paper  gave  him  a  strange  new  sense 
of  her  nearness;  yet  it  deepened  his  anguish  by  re- 
minding him  that  henceforth  they  would  have  no 
other  way  of  communicating  with  each  other.  For 
the  life  of  her  smile,  the  warmth  of  her  voice,  only 
cold  paper  and  dead  words ! 
[141] 


ETHAN    FROME 

Confused  motions  of  rebellion  stormed  in  him. 
He  was  too  young,  too  strong,  too  full  of  the  sap 
of  living,  to  submit  so  easily  to  the  destruction  of 
his  hopes.  Must  he  wear  out  all  his  years  at  the  side 
of  a  bitter  querulous  woman?  Other  possibilities 
had  been  in  him,  possibilities  sacrificed,  one  by 
one,  to  Zeena's  narrow-mindedness  and  ignorance. 
And  what  good  had  come  of  it  ?  She  was  a  hundred 
times  bitterer  and  more  discontented  than  when  he 
had  married  her:  the  one  pleasure  left  her  was  to 
inflict  pain  on  him.  All  the  healthy  instincts  of  self- 
defence  rose  up  in  him  against  such  waste  .  .  . 

He  bundled  himself  into  his  old  coon-skin  coat 
and  lay  down  on  the  box-sofa  to  think.  Under  his 
cheek  he  felt  a  hard  object  with  strange  pro- 
tuberances. It  was  a  cushion  which  Zeena  had  made 
for  him  when  they  were  engaged — the  only  piece  of 
needlework  he  had  ever  seen  her  do.  He  flung  it 
across  the  floor  and  propped  his  head  against  the 
wall  .  .  . 

He  knew  a  case  of  a  man  over  the  mountain — a 
young  fellow  of  about  his  own  age — who  had  es- 
[142] 


ETHAN    FROME 

caped  from  just  such  a  life  of  misery  by  going  West 
with  the  girl  he  cared  for.  His  wife  had  divorced 
him,  and  he  had  married  the  girl  and  prospered. 
Ethan  had  seen  the  couple  the  summer  before 
at  Shadd's  Falls,  where  they  had  come  to  visit 
relatives.  They  had  a  little  girl  with  fair  curls,  who 
wore  a  gold  locket  and  was  dressed  like  a  princess. 
The  deserted  wife  had  not  done  badly  either.  Her 
husband  had  given  her  the  farm  and  she  had  man- 
aged to  sell  it,  and  with  that  and  the  alimony  she 
had  started  a  lunch-room  at  Bettsbridge  and 
bloomed  into  activity  and  importance.  Ethan  was 
fired  by  the  thought.  Why  should  he  not  leave  with 
Mattie  the  next  day,  instead  of  letting  her  go  alone  ? 
He  would  hide  his  valise  under  the  seat  of  the  sleigh, 
and  Zeena  would  suspect  nothing  till  she  went  up- 
stairs for  her  afternoon  nap  and  found  a  letter  on  the 
bed  ... 

His  impulses  were  still  near  the  surface,  and  he 
sprang  up,  re-lit  the  lantern,  and  sat  down  at  the 
table.  He  rummaged  in  the  drawer  for  a  sheet  of 
paper,  found  one,  and  began  to  write. 
[143] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"Zeena,  I've  done  all  I  could  for  you,  and  I 
don't  see  as  it's  been  any  use.  I  don't  blame  you, 
nor  I  don't  blame  myself.  Maybe  both  of  us  will 
do  better  separate.  I'm  going  to  try  my  luck  West, 
and  you  can  sell  the  farm  and  mill,  and  keep  the 
money " 

His  pen  paused  on  the  word,  which  brought  home 
to  him  the  relentless  conditions  of  his  lot.  If  he  gave 
the  farm  and  mill  to  Zeena  what  would  be  left  him 
to  start  his  own  life  with  ?  Once  in  the  West  he  was 
sure  of  picking  up  work — he  would  not  have  feared 
to  try  his  chance  alone.  But  with  Mattie  depending 
on  him  the  case  was  different.  And  what  of  Zeena's 
fate  ?  Farm  and  mill  were  mortgaged  to  the  limit 
of  their  value,  and  even  if  she  found  a  purchaser — 
in  itself  an  unlikely  chance — it  was  doubtful  if  she 
could  clear  a  thousand  dollars  on  the  sale.  Mean- 
while, how  could  she  keep  the  farm  going  ?  It  was 
only  by  incessant  labour  and  personal  supervision 
that  Ethan  drew  a  meagre  living  from  his  land,  and 
his  wife,  even  if  she  were  in  better  health  than  she 
imagined,  could  never  carry  such  a  burden  alone. 
[  144  ] 


ETHAN    FROME 

Well,  she  could  go  back  to  her  people,  then,  and 
see  what  they  would  do  for  her.  It  was  the  fate 
she  was  forcing  on  Mattie — why  not  let  her  try  it 
herself  ?  By  the  time  she  had  discovered  his  where- 
abouts, and  brought  suit  for  divorce,  he  would  prob- 
ably— wherever  he  was — be  earning  enough  to  pay 
her  a  sufficient  alimony.  And  the  alternative  was 
to  let  Mattie  go  forth  alone,  with  far  less  hope  of 
ultimate  provision  .  .  . 

He  had  scattered  the  contents  of  the  table-drawer 
in  his  search  for  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  as  he  took  up 
his  pen  his  eye  fell  on  an  old  copy  of  the  Bettsbridge 
Eagle.  The  advertising  sheet  was  folded  uppermost, 
and  he  read  the  seductive  words:  "Trips  to  the 
West:  Reduced  Rates." 

He  drew  the  lantern  nearer  and  eagerly  scanned 
the  fares;  then  the  paper  fell  from  his  hand  and  he 
pushed  aside  his  unfinished  letter.  A  moment  ago  he 
had  wondered  what  he  and  Mattie  were  to  live 
on  when  they  reached  the  West;  now  he  saw  that  he 
had  not  even  the  money  to  take  her  there.  Borrowing 
was  out  of  the  question:  six  months  before  he  had 
[145] 


ETHAN    FROME 

given  his  only  security  to  raise  funds  for  necessary 
repairs  to  the  mill,  and  he  knew  that  without  secu- 
rity no  one  at  Starkfield  would  lend  him  ten  dollars. 
The  inexorable  facts  closed  in  on  him  like  prison- 
warders  hand-cuffing  a  convict.  There  was  no  way 
out — none.  He  was  a  prisoner  for  life,  and  now  his 
one  ray  of  light  was  to  be  extinguished. 

He  crept  back  heavily  to  the  sofa,  stretching  him- 
self out  with  limbs  so  leaden  that  he  felt  as  if  they 
would  never  move  again.  Tears  rose  in  his  throat 
and  slowly  burned  their  way  to  his  lids. 

As  he  lay  there,  the  window-pane  that  faced  him, 
growing  gradually  lighter,  inlaid  upon  the  darkness  a 
square  of  moon-suffused  sky.  A  crooked  tree-branch 
crossed  it,  a  branch  of  the  apple-tree  under  which, 
on  summer  evenings,  he  had  sometimes  found  Mat- 
tie  sitting  when  he  came  up  from  the  mill.  Slowly  the 
rim  of  the  rainy  vapours  caught  fire  and  burnt  away, 
and  a  pure  moon  swung  into  the  blue.  Ethan,  rising 
on  his  elbow,  watched  the  landscape  whiten  and 
shape  itself  under  the  sculpture  of  the  moon.  This 
was  the  night  on  which  he  was  to  have  taken  Mattie 
[  146] 


ETHAN    FROME 

coasting,  and  there  hung  the  lamp  to  light  them !  He 
looked  out  at  the  slopes  bathed  in  lustre,  the  silver- 
edged  darkness  of  the  woods,  the  spe  tral  purple  of 
the  hills  against  the  sky,  and  it  seemed  as  though  all 
the  beauty  of  the  night  had  been  poured  out  to  mock 
his  wretchedness  .  .  . 

He  fell  asleep,  and  when  he  woke  the  chill  of  the 
winter  dawn  was  in  the  room.  He  felt  cold  and  stiff 
and  hungry,  and  ashamed  of  being  hungry.  He 
rubbed  his  eyes  and  went  to  the  window.  A  red  sun 
stood  over  the  gray  rim  of  the  fields,  behind  trees 
that  looked  black  and  brittle.  He  said  to  himself: 
"This  is  Matt's  last  day,"  and  tried  to  think  what 
the  place  would  be  without  her. 

As  he  stood  there  he  heard  a  step  behind  him  and 
she  entered. 

"  Oh,  Ethan— were  you  here  all  night  ?  " 

She  looked  so  small  and  pinched,  in  her  poor  dress, 
with  the  red  scarf  wound  about  her,  and  the  cold  light 
turning  her  paleness  sallow,  that  Ethan  stood  before 
her  without  speaking. 

"  You  must  be  frozen,"  she  went  on,  fixing  lustreless 
eyes  on  him. 

[147] 


ETHAN    FROME 

He  drew  a  step  nearer.  "  How  did  you  know  I  was 
here?" 

"  Because  I  heard  you  go  down  stairs  again  after 
I  went  to  bed,  and  I  listened  all  night,  and  you  didn't 
come  up." 

All  his  tenderness  rushed  to  his  lips.  He  looked  at 
her  and  said :  "  I'll  come  right  along  and  make  up  the 
kitchen  fire." 

They  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  and  he  fetched  the 
coal  and  kindlings  and  cleared  out  the  stove  for  her, 
while  she  brought  in  the  milk  and  the  cold  remains 
of  the  meat-pie.  When  warmth  began  to  radiate 
from  the  stove,  and  the  first  ray  of  sunlight  lay  on  the 
kitchen  floor,  Ethan's  dark  thoughts  melted  in  the 
mellower  air.  The  sight  of  Mattie  going  about  her 
work  as  he  had  seen  her  on  so  many  mornings  made 
it  seem  impossible  that  she  should  ever  cease  to  be 
a  part  of  the  scene.  He  said  to  himself  that  he  had 
doubtless  exaggerated  the  significance  of  Zeena's 
threats,  and  that  she  too,  with  the  return  of  daylight, 
would  come  to  a  saner  mood. 

He  went  up  to  Mattie  as  she  bent  above  the  stove, 
and  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "I  don't  want  you 
[148] 


ETHAN    FROME 

should  trouble  either,"  he  said,  looking  down  into 
her  eyes  with  a  smile. 

She  flushed  up  warmly  and  whispered  back :  "  No, 
Ethan,  I  ain't  going  to  trouble." 

"  I  guess  things'll  straighten  out,"  he  added. 

There  was  no  answer  but  a  quick  throb  of  her  lids, 
and  he  went  on :  "  She  ain't  said  anything  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"  No.  I  haven't  seen  her  yet." 

"  Don't  you  take  any  notice  when  you  do." 

With  this  injunction  he  left  her  and  went  out  to 
the  cow-barn.  He  saw  Jotham  Powell  walking  up  the 
hill  through  the  morning  mist,  and  the  familiar  sight 
added  to  his  growing  conviction  of  security. 

As  the  two  men  were  clearing  out  the  stalls  Jotham 
rested  on  his  pitch-fork  to  say :  "  Dan'l  Byrne's  goin' 
over  to  the  Flats  to-day  noon,  an'  he  c'd  take  Mat- 
tie's  trunk  along,  and  make  it  easier  ridin'  when  I 
take  her  over  in  the  sleigh." 

Ethan  looked  at  him  blankly,  and  he  continued: 
"  Mis'  Frome  said  the  new  girl'd  be  at  the  Flats  at 
five,  and  I  was  to  take  Mattie  then,  so's  't  she  could 
ketch  the  six  o'clock  train  for  Stamford." 
[  149] 


ETHAN    FROME 

Ethan  felt  the  blood  drumming  in  his  temples.  He 
had  to  wait  a  moment  before  he  could  find  voice  to 
say :  "  Oh,  it  ain't  so  sure  about  Mattie's  going " 

"That  so?"  said  Jotham  indifferently;  and  they 
went  on  with  their  work. 

When  they  returned  to  the  kitchen  the  two  women 
were  already  at  breakfast.  Zeena  had  an  air  of  un- 
usual alertness  and  activity.  She  drank  two  cups  of 
coffee  and  fed  the  cat  with  the  scraps  left  in  the  pie- 
dish;  then  she  rose  from  her  seat  and,  walking  over 
to  the  window,  snipped  two  or  three  yellow  leaves 
from  the  geraniums.  "Aunt  Martha's  ain't  got  a 
faded  leaf  on  'em;  but  they  pine  away  when  they  ain't 
cared  for,"  she  said  reflectively.  Then  she  turned  to 
Jotham  and  asked:  "What  time'd  you  say  Dan'l 
Byrne'd  be  along?" 

The  hired  man  threw  a  hesitating  glance  at  Ethan. 
"Round  about  noon,"  he  said. 

Zeena  turned  to  Mattie.  "  That  trunk  of  yours  is 
too  heavy  for  the  sleigh,  and  Dan'l  Byrne'll  be  round 
to  take  it  over  to  the  Flats,"  she  said. 

"I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Zeena,"  said  Mattie. 

"  I'd  like  to  go  over  things  with  you  first,"  Zeena 
[  150] 


ETHAN    FROME 

continued  in  an  unperturbed  voice.  "  I  know  there's 
a  huckabuck  towel  missing;  and  I  can't  make  out 
what  you  done  with  that  match-safe  't  used  to  stand 
behind  the  stuffed  owl  in  the  parlour." 

She  went  out,  followed  by  Mattie,  and  when  the 
men  were  alone  Jotham  said  to  his  employer:  "I 
guess  I  better  let  Dan'l  come  round,  then." 

Ethan  finished  his  usual  morning  tasks  about  the 
house  and  barn;  then  he  said  to  Jotham:  "I'm  going 
down  to  Starkfield.  Tell  them  not  to  wait  dinner." 

The  passion  of  rebellion  had  broken  out  in  him 
again.  That  which  had  seemed  incredible  in  the  so- 
ber light  of  day  had  really  come  to  pass,  and  he  was 
to  assist  as  a  helpless  spectator  at  Mattie's  banish- 
ment. His  manhood  was  humbled  by  the  part  he  was 
compelled  to  play  and  by  the  thought  of  what  Mattie 
must  think  of  him.  Confused  impulses  struggled  in 
him  as  he  strode  along  to  the  village.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  do  something,  but  he  did  not  know 
what  it  would  be. 

The  early  mist  had  vanished  and  the  fields  lay  like 
[151] 


ETHAN    FROME 

a  silver  shield  under  the  sun.  It  was  one  of  the  days 
when  the  glitter  of  winter  shines  through  a  pale  haze 
of  spring.  Every  yard  of  the  road  was  alive  with  Mat- 
tie's  presence,  and  there  was  hardly  a  branch  against 
the  sky  or  a  tangle  of  brambles  on  the  bank  in  which 
some  bright  shred  of  memory  was  not  caught.  Once, 
in  the  stillness,  the  call  of  a  bird  in  a  mountain  ash 
was  so  like  her  laughter  that  his  heart  tightened  and 
then  grew  large;  and  all  these  things  made  him  see 
that  something  must  be  done  at  once. 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that  Andrew  Hale, 
who  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  might  be  induced  to 
reconsider  his  refusal  and  advance  a  small  sum  on 
the  lumber  if  he  were  told  that  Zeena's  ill-health 
made  it  necessary  to  hire  a  servant.  Hale,  after  all, 
knew  enough  of  Ethan's  situation  to  make  it  possi- 
ble for  the  latter  to  renew  his  appeal  without  too 
much  loss  of  pride;  and,  moreover,  how  much  did 
pride  count  in  the  ebullition  of  passions  in  his 
breast  ? 

The  more  he  considered  his  plan  the  more  hope- 
ful it  seemed.  If  he  could  get  Mrs.  Hale's  ear  he  felt 
[152] 


ETHAN    FROME 

certain  of  success,  and  with  fifty  dollars  in  his  pocket 
nothing  could  keep  him  from  Mattie  .  .  . 

His  first  object  was  to  reach  Starkfield  before  Hale 
had  started  for  his  work;  he  knew  the  carpenter  had 
a  job  down  the  Corbury  road  and  was  likely  to  leave 
his  house  early.  Ethan's  long  strides  grew  more  rapid 
with  the  accelerated  beat  of  his  thoughts,  and  as  he 
reached  the  foot  of  School  House  Hill  he  caught 
sight  of  Hale's  sleigh  in  the  distance.  He  hurried  for- 
ward to  meet  it,  but  as  it  drew  nearer  he  saw  that  it 
was  driven  by  the  carpenter's  youngest  boy  and  that 
the  figure  at  his  side,  looking  lik  a  large  upright 
cocoon  in  spectacles,  was  that  of  Mrs.  Hale.  Ethan 
signed  to  them  to  stop,  and  Mrs.  Hale  leaned 
forward,  her  pink  wrinkles  twinkling  with  benevo- 
lence. 

"  Mr.  Hale  ?  Why,  yes,  ou'll  find  him  down  home 
now.  He  ain't  going  to  his  work  this  forenoon.  He 
woke  up  with  a  touch  o'  lumbago,  and  I  just  made 
him  put  on  one  of  old  Dr.  Kidder's  plasters  and  set 
right  up  into  the  fire." 

Beaming  maternally  on  Ethan,  she  bent  over  to 
add:  "I  on'y  just  heard  from  Mr.  Hale  'bout 
[  153  ] 


ETHAN    FROME 

Zeena's  going  over  to  Bettsbridge  to  see  that  new 
doctor.  I'm  real  sorry  she's  feeling  so  bad  again!  I 
hope  he  thinks  he  can  do  something  for  her  ?  I  don't 
know  anybody  round  here's  had  more  sickness  than 
Zeena.  I  always  tell  Mr.  Hale  I  don't  know  what 
she'd  'a'  done  if  she  hadn't  'a'  had  you  to  look  after 
her;  and  I  used  to  say  the  same  thing  'bout  your 
mother.  You've  had  an  awful  mean  time,  Ethan 
Frome." 

She  gave  him  a  last  nod  of  sympathy  while  her  son 
chirped  to  the  horse;  and  Ethan,  as  she  drove  off, 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  stared  after  the 
retreating  sleigh. 

It  was  a  long  time  since  anyone  had  spoken  to  him 
as  kindly  as  Mrs.  Hale.  Most  people  were  either  in- 
different to  his  troubles,  or  disposed  to  think  it  nat- 
ural that  a  young  fellow  of  his  age  should  have  car- 
ried without  repining  the  burden  of  three  crippled 
lives.  But  Mrs.  Hale  had  said  "  You've  had  an  awful 
mean  time,  Ethan  Frome,"  and  he  felt  less  alone 
with  his  misery.  If  the  Hales  were  sorry  for  him  they 
would  surely  respond  to  his  appeal  .  .  . 

He  started  down  the  road  toward  their  house,  but 
[  154] 


ETHAN    FROME 

at  the  end  of  a  few  yards  he  pulled  up  sharply,  the 
blood  in  his  face.  For  the  first  time,  in  the  light  of  the 
words  he  had  just  heard,  he  saw  what  he  was  about 
to  do.  He  was  planning  to  take  advantage  of  the 
Hales*  sympathy  to  obtain  money  from  them  on 
false  pretences.  That  was  a  plain  statement  of  the 
cloudy  purpose  which  had  driven  him  in  headlong 
to  Starkfield. 

With  the  sudden  perception  of  the  point  to  which 
his  madness  had  carried  him,  the  madness  fell  and 
he  saw  his  life  before  him  as  it  was.  He  was  a  poor 
man,  the  husband  of  a  sickly  woman,  whom  his  de- 
sertion would  leave  alone  and  destitute;  and  even  if 
he  had  had  the  heart  to  desert  her  he  could  have 
done  so  only  by  deceiving  two  kindly  people  who  had 
pitied  him. 

He  turned  and  walked  slowly  back  to  the  farm. 


[  155] 


IX 

AT  the  kitchen  door  Daniel  Byrne  sat  in  his 
L  \.  sleigh  behind  a  big-boned  gray  who  pawed 
the  snow  and  swung  his  long  head  restlessly  from 
side  to  side. 

Ethan  went  into  the  kitchen  and  found  his  wife 
by  the  stove.  Her  head  was  wrapped  in  her  shawl, 
and  she  was  reading  a  book  called  "  Kidney  Troub- 
les And  Their  Cure "  on  which  he  had  had  to  pay 
extra  postage  only  a  few  days  before. 

Zeena  did  not  move  or  look  up  when  he  entered, 
and  after  a  moment  he  asked :  "  Where's  Mattie  ?  " 

Without  lifting  her  eyes  from  the  page  she  replied : 
"  I  presume  she's  getting  down  her  trunk." 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  face.  "  Getting  down  her 
trunk — alone  ?  " 

"Jotham  Powell's  down  in  the  wood-lot,  and 
Dan'l  Byrne  says  he  darsn't  leave  that  horse,"  she 
returned. 

[156] 


ETHAN    FROME 

Her  husband,  without  stopping  to  hear  the  end  of 
the  phrase,  had  left  the  kitchen  and  sprung  up  the 
stairs.  The  door  of  Mattie's  room  was  shut,  and  he 
wavered  a  moment  on  the  landing.  "  Matt,"  he  said 
in  a  low  voice;  but  there  was  no  answer,  and  he  put 
his  hand  on  the  door-knob. 

He  had  never  been  in  her  room  except  once, 
in  the  early  summer,  when  he  had  gone  there  to 
plaster  up  a  leak  in  the  eaves,  but  he  remembered 
exactly  how  everything  had  looked:  the  red  and 
white  quilt  on  her  narrow  bed,  the  pretty  pin-cush- 
ion on  the  chest  of  drawers,  and  over  it  the  en- 
larged photograph  of  her  mother,  in  an  oxydized 
frame,  with  a  bunch  of  dyed  grasses  at  the  back. 
Now  these  and  all  other  tokens  of  her  presence 
had  vanished,  and  the  room  looked  as  bare  and 
comfortless  as  when  Zeena  had  shown  her  into 
it  on  the  day  of  her  arrival.  In  the  middle  of  the 
floor  stood  her  trunk,  and  on  the  trunk  she  sat  in 
her  Sunday  dress,  her  back  turned  to  the  door  and 
her  face  in  her  hands.  She  had  not  heard  Ethan's 
call  because  she  was  sobbing;  and  she  did  not  hear 
[157] 


ETHAN    FROME 

his  step  till  he  stood  close  behind  her  and  laid  his 
hands  on  her  shoulders. 

"Matt— oh,  don't— oh,  Matt!" 

She  started  up,  lifting  her  wet  face  to  his.  "  Ethan 
— I  thought  I  wasn't  ever  going  to  see  you  again! " 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  pressing  her  close,  and 
with  a  trembling  hand  smoothed  away  the  hair  from 
her  forehead. 

"  Not  see  me  again  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

She  sobbed  out : "  Jotham  said  you  told  him  we 
wasn't  to  wait  dinner  for  you,  and  I  thought " 

"You  thought  I  meant  to  cut  it?"  he  finished  for 
her  grimly. 

She  clung  to  him  without  answering,  and  he  laid 
his  lips  on  her  hair,  which  was  soft  yet  springy,  like 
certain  mosses  on  warm  slopes,  and  had  the  faint 
woody  fragrance  of  fresh  sawdust  in  the  sun. 

Through  the  door  they  heard  Zeena's  voice  calling 
out  from  below :  "  Dan'l  Byrne  says  you  better  hurry 
up  if  you  want  him  to  take  that  trunk." 

They  drew  apart  with  stricken  faces.  Words  of  re- 
sistance rushed  to  Ethan's  lips  and  died  there.  Mat- 
[  158] 


ETHAN    FROME 

tie  found  her  handkerchief  and  dried  her  eyes;  then, 
bending  down,  she  took  hold  of  a  handle  of  the 
trunk. 

Ethan  put  her  aside.  "You  let  go,  Matt,"  he  or- 
dered her. 

She  answered:  "It  takes  two  to  coax  it  round  the 
corner" ;  and  submitting  to  this  argument  he  grasped 
the  other  handle,  and  together  they  manreuvred  the 
heavy  trunk  out  to  the  landing. 

"Now  let  go,"  he  epeated;  then  he  shouldered 
the  trunk  and  carried  it  down  the  stairs  and  across 
the  passage  to  the  kitchen.  Zeena,  who  had  gone 
back  to  her  seat  by  the  stove,  did  not  lift  her  head 
from  her  book  as  he  passed.  Mattie  followed  him 
out  of  the  door  and  helped  him  to  lift  the  trunk  into 
the  back  of  the  sleigh.  When  it  was  in  place  they 
stood  side  by  side  on  the  door-step,  watching  Daniel 
Byrne  plunge  off  behind  his  fidgety  horse. 

It  seemed  to  Ethan  that  his  heart  was  bound  with 

cords  which  an  unseen  hand  was  tightening  with 

every  tick  of  the  clock.  Twice  he  opened  his  lips  to 

speak  to  Mattie  and  found  no  breath.  At  length,  as 

[159] 


ETHAN    FROME 

she  turned  to  re-enter  the  house,  he  laid  a  detaining 
hand  on  her. 

"  I'm  going  to  drive  you  over,  Matt,"  he  whispered. 

She  murmured  back:  "I  think  Zeena  wants  I 
should  go  with  Jotham." 

"  I'm  going  to  drive  you  over,"  he  repeated ;  and 
she  went  into  the  kitchen  without  answering. 

At  dinner  Ethan  could  not  eat.  If  he  lifted  his  eyes 
they  rested  on  Zeena's  pinched  face,  and  the  corners 
of  her  straight  lips  seemed  to  quiver  away  into  a 
smile.  She  ate  well,  declaring  that  the  mild  weather 
made  her  feel  better,  and  pressed  a  second  helping  of 
beans  on  Jotham  Powell,  whose  wants  she  generally 
ignored. 

Mattie,  when  the  meal  was  over,  went  about  her 
usual  task  of  clearing  the  table  and  washing  up  the 
dishes.  Zeena,  after  feeding  the  cat,  had  returned  to 
her  rocking-chair  by  the  stove,  and  Jotham  Powell, 
who  always  lingered  last,  reluctantly  pushed  back 
his  chair  and  moved  toward  the  door. 

On  the  threshold  he  turned  back  to  say  to  Ethan : 
"What  time'll  I  come  round  for  Mattie?" 
[160] 


ETHAN    FROME 

Ethan  was  standing  near  the  window,  mechani- 
cally filling  his  pipe  while  he  watched  Mattie  move 
to  and  fro.  He  answered:  "You  needn't  come  round; 
I'm  going  to  drive  her  over  myself." 

He  saw  the  rise  of  the  colour  in  Mattie's  averted 
cheek,  and  the  quick  lifting  of  Zeena's  head. 

"I  want  you  should  stay  here  this  afternoon, 
Ethan,"  his  wife  said.  "Jotham  can  drive  Mattie 
over." 

Mattie  flung  an  imploring  glance  at  him,  but  he 
repeated  curtly:  "I'm  going  to  drive  her  over  my- 
self." 

Zeena  continued  in  the  same  even  tone :  "  I  wanted 
you  should  stay  and  fix  up  that  stove  in  Mattie's 
room  afore  the  girl  gets  here.  It  ain't  been  drawing 
right  for  nigh  on  a  month  now." 

Ethan's  voice  rose  indignantly.  "If  it  was  good 
enough  for  Mattie  I  guess  it's  good  enough  for  a 
hired  girl." 

"  That  girl  that's  coming  told  me  she  was  used  to 
a  house  where  they  had  a  furnace,"  Zeena  persisted 
with  the  same  monotonous  mildness. 
[161] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"She'd  better  ha*  stayed  there  then,"  he  flung 
back  at  her;  and  turning  to  Mattie  he  added  in  a 
hard  voice:  "You  be  ready  by  three,  Matt;  I've  got 
business  at  Corbury." 

Jotham  Powell  had  started  for  the  barn,  and 
Ethan  strode  down  after  him  aflame  with  anger. 
The  pulses  in  his  temples  throbbed  and  a  fog  was 
in  his  eyes.  He  went  about  his  task  without  knowing 
what  force  directed  him,  or  whose  hands  and  feet 
were  fulfilling  its  orders.  It  was  not  till  he  led  out  the 
sorrel  and  backed  him  between  the  shafts  of  the 
sleigh  that  he  once  more  became  conscious  of  what 
he  was  doing.  As  he  passed  the  bridle  over  the 
horse's  head,  and  wound  the  traces  around  the 
shafts,  he  remembered  the  day  when  he  had  made 
the  same  preparations  in  order  to  drive  over  and 
meet  his  wife's  cousin  at  the  Flats.  It  was  little  more 
than  a  year  ago,  on  just  such  a  soft  afternoon,  with  a 
"  feel "  of  spring  in  the  air.  The  sorrel,  turning  the 
same  big  ringed  eye  on  him,  nuzzled  the  palm  of  his 
hand  in  the  same  way;  and  one  by  one  all  the  days 
between  rose  up  and  stood  before  him  .  .  . 
[162] 


ETHAN    FROME 

He  flung  the  bears  kin  into  the  sleigh,  climbed  to 
the  seat,  and  drove  up  to  the  house.  When  he  en- 
tered the  kitchen  it  was  empty,  but  Mattie's  bag 
and  shawl  lay  ready  by  the  door.  He  went  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  and  listened.  No  sound  reached 
him  from  above,  but  presently  he  thought  he  heard 
some  one  moving  about  in  his  deserted  study,  and 
pushing  open  the  door  he  saw  Mattie,  in  her  hat 
and  jacket,  standing  with  her  back  to  him  near 
the  table. 

She  started  at  his  approach  and  turning  quickly, 
said:  "Is  it  time?" 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Matt  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

She  looked  at  him  timidly.  "I  was  just  taking  a 
look  round — that's  all,"  she  answered,  with  a  waver- 
ing smile. 

They  went  back  into  the  kitchen  without  speaking, 
and  Ethan  picked  up  her  bag  and  shawl. 

"  Where's  Zeena  ?  "  he  asked. 

"She  went  upstairs  right  after  dinner.  She  said 
she  had  those  shooting  pains  again,  and  didn't  want 
to  be  disturbed." 

[  163] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"  Didn't  she  say  good-bye  to  you  ?  " 

"No.  That  was  all  she  said." 

Ethan,  looking  slowly  about  the  kitchen,  said  to 
himself  with  a  shudder  that  in  a  few  hours  he  would 
be  returning  to  it  alone.  Then  the  sense  of  unreality 
overcame  him  once  more,  and  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  believe  that  Mattie  stood  there  for  the  last 
time  before  him. 

"  Come  on,"  he  said  almost  gaily,  opening  the  door 
and  putting  her  bag  into  the  sleigh.  He  sprang  to  his 
seat  and  bent  over  to  tuck  the  rug  about  her  as  she 
slipped  into  the  place  at  his  side.  "Now  then,  go 
'long,"  he  said,  with  a  shake  of  the  reins  that  sent 
the  sorrel  placidly  jogging  down  the  hill. 

"We  got  lots  of  time  for  a  good  ride,  Matt!"  he 
cried,  seeking  her  hand  beneath  the  fur  and  pressing 
it  in  his.  His  face  tingled  and  he  felt  dizzy,  as  if  he 
had  stopped  in  at  the  Starkfield  saloon  on  a  zero  day 
for  a  drink. 

At  the  gate,  instead  of  making  for  Starkfield,  he 
turned  the  sorrel  to  the  right,  up  the  Bettsbridge 
road.  Mattie  sat  silent,  giving  no  sign  of  surprise; 
[164] 


ETHAN    FROME 

but  after  a  moment  she  said :  "  Are  you  going  round 
by  Shadow  Pond?" 

He  laughed  and  answered :  "  I  knew  you'd  know! " 
She  drew  closer  under  the  bearskin,  so  that,  look- 
ing sideways  around  his  coat-sleeve,  he  could  just 
catch  the  tip  of  her  nose  and  a  blown  brown  wave  of 
hair.  They  drove  slowly  up  the  road  between  fields 
glistening  under  the  pale  sun,  and  then  bent  to  the 
right  down  a  lane  edged  with  spruce  and  larch. 
Ahead  of  them,  a  long  way  off,  a  range  of  hills  stained 
by  mottlings  of  black  forest  flowed  away  in  round 
white  curves  against  the  sky.  The  lane  passed  into  a 
pine-wood  with  boles  reddening  in  the  afternoon 
sun  and  delicate  blue  shadows  on  the  snow.  As  they 
entered  it  the  breeze  fell  and  a  warm  stillness  seemed 
to  drop  from  the  branches  with  the  dropping  needles. 
Here  the  snow  was  so  pure  that  the  tiny  tracks  of 
wood-animals  had  left  on  it  intricate  lace-like  pat- 
terns, and  the  bluish  cones  caught  in  its  surface 
stood  out  like  ornaments  of  bronze. 

Ethan  drove  on  in  silence  till  they  reached  a  part 
of  the  wood  where  the  pines  were  more  widely  spaced; 
[165] 


ETHAN    FROME 

then  he  drew  up  and  helped  Mattie  to  get  out  of  the 
sleigh.  They  passed  between  the  aromatic  trunks, 
the  snow  breaking  crisply  under  their  feet,  till  they 
came  to  a  small  sheet  of  water  with  steep  wooded 
sides.  Across  its  frozen  surface,  from  the  farther 
bank,  a  single  hill  rising  against  the  western  sun 
threw  the  long  conical  shadow  which  gave  the 
lake  its  name.  It  was  a  shy  secret  spot,  full  of 
the  same  dumb  melancholy  that  Ethan  felt  in 
his  heart. 

He  looked  up  and  down  the  little  pebbly  beach 
till  his  eye  lit  on  a  fallen  tree-trunk  half  submerged 
in  snow. 

"There's  where  we  sat  at  the  picnic,"  he  re- 
minded her. 

The  entertainment  of  which  he  spoke  was  one  of 
the  few  that  they  had  taken  part  in  together:  a 
"church  picnic"  which,  on  a  long  afternoon  of  the 
preceding  summer,  had  filled  the  retired  place  with 
merry-making.  Mattie  had  begged  him  to  go  with 
her  but  he  had  refused.  Then,  toward  sunset,  com- 
ing down  from  the  mountain  where  he  had  been  fell- 
t  166] 


ETHAN    FROME 

ing  timber,  lie  had  been  caught  by  some  strayed  rev- 
ellers and  drawn  into  the  group  by  the  lake,  where 
Mattie,  encircled  by  facetious  youths,  and  bright  as 
a  blackberry  under  her  spreading  hat,  was  brewing 
coffee  over  a  gipsy  fire.  He  remembered  the  shyness 
he  had  felt  at  approaching  her  in  his  uncouth  clothes, 
and  then  the  lighting  up  of  her  face,  and  the  way  she 
had  broken  through  the  group  to  come  to  him  with  a 
cup  in  her  hand.  They  had  sat  for  a  few  minutes  on 
the  fallen  log  by  the  pond,  and  she  had  missed  her 
gold  locket,  and  set  the  young  men  searching  for  it; 
and  it  was  Ethan  who  had  spied  it  in  the  moss  .  .  . 
That  was  all;  but  all  their  intercourse  had  been 
made  up  of  just  such  inarticulate  flashes,  when 
they  seemed  to  come  suddenly  upon  happiness 
as  if  they  had  surprised  a  butterfly  in  the  winter 
woods  .  .  . 

"  It  was  right  there  I  found  your  locket,"  he  said, 
pushing  his  foot  into  a  dense  tuft  of  blueberry 
bushes. 

"I  never  saw  anybody  with  such  sharp  eyes!"  she 
answered. 

[167] 


ETHAN    FROME 

She  sat  down  on  the  tree-trunk  in  the  sun  and  he 
sat  down  beside  her. 

"  You  were  as  pretty  as  a  picture  in  that  pink  hat," 
he  said. 

She  laughed  with  pleasure.  "Oh,  I  guess  it  was 
the  hat!"  she  rejoined. 

They  had  never  before  avowed  their  inclination 
so  openly,  and  Ethan,  for  a  moment,  had  the  illusion 
that  he  was  a  free  man,  wooing  the  girl  he  meant  to 
marry.  He  looked  at  her  hair  and  longed  to  touch  it 
again,  and  to  tell  her  that  it  smelt  of  the  woods ;  but 
he  had  never  learned  to  say  such  things. 

Suddenly  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  said:"  We 
mustn't  stay  here  any  longer." 

He  continued  to  gaze  at  her  vaguely,  only  half- 
roused  from  his  dream.  "There's  plenty  of  time," 
he  answered. 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other  as  if  the  eyes 
of  each  were  straining  to  absorb  and  hold  fast  the 
other's  image.  There  were  things  he  had  to  say  to  her 
before  they  parted,  but  he  could  not  say  them  in 
that  place  of  summer  memories,  and  he  turned  and 
[  168] 


ETHAN    FROME 

followed  her  in  silence  to  the  sleigh.  As  they  drove 
away  the  sun  sank  behind  the  hill  and  the  pine-boles 
turned  from  red  to  gray. 

By  a  devious  track  between  the  fields  they  wound 
back  to  the  Starkfield  road.  Under  the  open  sky  the 
light  was  still  clear,  with  a  reflection  of  cold  red  on 
the  eastern  hills.  The  clumps  of  trees  in  the  snow 
seemed  to  draw  together  in  ruffled  lumps,  like  birds 
with  their  heads  under  their  wings ;  and  the  sky,  as  it 
paled,  rose  higher,  leaving  the  earth  more  alone. 

As  they  turned  into  the  Starkfield  road  Ethan 
said :  "  Matt,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  at  length  she  said : 
"  I'll  try  to  get  a  place  in  a  store." 

"  You  know  you  can't  do  it.  The  bad  air  and  the 
standing  all  day  nearly  killed  you  before." 

"I'm  a  lot  stronger  than  I  was  before  I  came  to 
Starkfield." 

"  And  now  you're  going  to  throw  away  all  the  good 
it's  done  you ! " 

There  seemed  to  be  no  answer  to  this,  and  again 
they  drove  on  for  a  while  without  speaking.  With 
[169] 


ETHAN    FROME 

every  yard  of  the  way  some  spot  where  they  had 
stood,  and  laughed  together  or  been  silent,  clutched 
at  Ethan  and  dragged  him  back. 

"  Isn't  there  any  of  your  father's  folks  could  help 
you?" 

"There  isn't  any  of  'em  I'd  ask." 

He  lowered  his  voice  to  say:  "You  know  there's 
nothing  I  wouldn't  do  for  you  if  I  could." 

"I  know  there  isn't." 

"But  I  can't " 

She  was  silent,  but  he  felt  a  slight  tremor  in  the 
shoulder  against  his. 

"Oh,  Matt,"  he  broke  out,  "if  I  could  ha'  gone 
with  you  now  I'd  ha'  done  it " 

She  turned  to  him,  pulling  a  scrap  of  paper  from 
her  breast.  "  Ethan — I  found  this,"  she  stammered. 
Even  in  the  failing  light  he  saw  it  was  the  letter  to  his 
wife  that  he  had  begun  the  night  before  and  forgot- 
ten to  destroy.  Through  his  astonishment  there  ran 
a  fierce  thrill  of  joy." Matt— "  he  cried;  "if  I  could 
ha'  done  it,  would  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  Ethan,  Ethan— what's  the  use?"  With  a 

[ 


ETHAN    FROME 

sudden  movement  she  tore  the  letter  in  shreds  and 
sent  them  fluttering  off  into  the  snow. 

"Tell  me,  Matt!  Tell  me!"  he  adjured  her. 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment;  then  she  said,  in 
such  a  low  tone  that  he  had  to  stoop  his  head  to 
hear  her :  "  I  used  to  think  of  it  sometimes,  summer 
nights,  when  the  moon  was  so  bright  I  couldn't 
sleep." 

His  heart  reeled  with  the  sweetness  of  it.  "As  long 
ago  as  that  ?  " 

She  answered,  as  if  the  date  had  long  been  fixed 
for  her:  "  The  first  time  was  at  Shadow  Pond." 

"  Was  that  why  you  gave  me  my  coffee  before  the 
others?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Did  I  ?  I  was  dreadfully  put  out 
when  you  wouldn't  go  to  the  picnic  with  me;  and 
then,  when  I  saw  you  coming  down  the  road,  I 
thought  maybe  you'd  gone  home  that  way  o'  pur- 
pose; and  that  made  me  glad." 

They  were  silent  again.  They  had  reached  the 
point  where  the  road  dipped  to  the  hollow  by  Ethan's 
mill  and  as  they  descended  the  darkness  descended 
[171] 


ETHAN    FROME 

with  them,  dropping  down  like  a  black  veil  from  the 
heavy  hemlock  boughs. 

"  I'm  tied  hand  and  foot,  Matt.  There  isn't  a  thing 
I  can  do,"  he  began  again. 

"  You  must  write  to  me  sometimes,  Ethan." 

"  Oh,  what  good'll  writing  do  ?  I  want  to  put  my 
hand  out  and  touch  you.  I  want  to  do  for  you  and 
care  for  you.  I  want  to  be  there  when  you're  sick 
and  when  you're  lonesome." 

"  You  mustn't  think  but  what  I'll  do  all  right." 

"  You  won't  need  me,  you  mean  ?  I  suppose  you'll 
marry!" 

"Oh,  Ethan!  "she  cried. 

"I  don't  know  how  it  is  you  make  me  feel,  Matt. 
I'd  a'most  rather  have  you  dead  than  that!" 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  was,  I  wish  I  was! "  she  sobbed. 

The  sound  of  her  weeping  shook  him  out  of  his 
dark  anger,  and  he  felt  ashamed. 

"Don't  let's  talk  that  way,"  he  whispered. 

"Why  shouldn't  we,  when  it's  true?  I've  been 
wishing  it  every  minute  of  the  day." 

"Matt!  You  be  quiet!  Don't  you  say  it," 
[172] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"There's  never  anybody  been  good  to  me  but 
you." 

"  Don't  say  that  either,  when  I  can't  lift  a  hand  for 
you!" 

"Yes;  but  it's  true  just  the  same." 

They  had  reached  the  top  of  School  House  Hill 
and  Starkfield  lay  below  them  in  the  twilight.  A  cut- 
ter, mounting  the  road  from  the  village,  passed  them 
by  in  a  joyous  flutter  of  bells,  and  they  straightened 
themselves  and  looked  ahead  with  rigid  faces.  Along 
the  main  street  lights  had  begun  to  shine  from  the 
house-fronts  and  stray  figures  were  turning  in  here 
and  there  at  the  gates.  Ethan,  with  a  touch  of  his 
whip,  roused  the  sorrel  to  a  languid  trot. 

As  they  drew  near  the  end  of  the  village  the  cries 
of  children  reached  them,  and  they  saw  a  knot  of 
boys,  with  sleds  behind  them,  scattering  across  the 
open  space  before  the  church. 

"  I  guess  this'll  be  their  last  coast  for  a  day  or  two," 
Ethan  said,  looking  up  at  the  mild  sky. 

Mattie  was  silent,  and  he  added:  "We  were  to 
have  gone  down  last  night." 
[173] 


ETHAN    FROME 

Still  she  did  not  speak  and,  prompted  by  an  ob- 
scure desire  to  help  himself  and  her  through  their 
miserable  last  hour,  he  went  on  discursively:  "  Ain't 
it  funny  we  haven't  been  down  together  but  just  that 
once  last  winter?" 

She  answered :  "  It  wasn't  often  I  got  down  to  the 
village." 

"  That's  so,"  he  said. 

They  had  reached  the  crest  of  the  Corbury  road, 
and  between  the  indistinct  white  glimmer  of  the 
church  and  the  black  curtain  of  the  Varnum  spruces 
the  slope  stretched  away  below  them  without  a  sled 
on  its  length.  Some  erratic  impulse  prompted  Ethan 
to  say :"  How'd  you  like  me  to  take  you  down  now  ?" 

She  forced  a  laugh.  "Why,  there  isn't  time!" 

"There's  all  the  time  we  want.  Come  along! "  His 
one  desire  now  was  to  postpone  the  moment  of  turn- 
ing the  sorrel  toward  the  Flats. 

"But  the.girl,"  she  faltered.  "The  girl'll  be  wait- 
ing at  the  station." 

"  Well,  let  her  wait.  You'd  have  to  if  she  didn't. 
Come!" 

[174] 


NTH  AN    PRO  MB 

Tito  noto  of  authority  In  MM  volooMOomod  tt>Muh- 
duo  hor,  and  whon  ho  Iwd  jwnpod  front  tho 
*ho  lot.  hint  holp  hor  out,  Maying  only,  with  a 
M»t.  of  ivluotmuv:  "  Hut  thotv  Un'l  «  M!«H!  \v\\\\\\  i\\\y 


,  tl^tv    IM!    Hlghi   owr   ihotv    «tuli*r 
11 
ihtvw  ihf> 


hy  iho  »H>ml«l«lo,  !m.ngh^  rt 
llvo  licml.  Tlton  hi*  ortn^hi  M«(|{0'«  Imml 
hnr  ttfi^r  him  lowtthl  Ih0  nl^l, 

She  Mettled  hoi'Molf  oltf«il!0itlly  mid  1i0  took  MM 
hrMttd  Ii0t\  MO  «'!oM0  tlmt  hoi1  hntr  hninhod  !I! 
"All  r!«ht,Mttttr*ho  rullod  OIII.MN  If  tho  width  of 
tho  nmd  Itnd  boon  hoiwoon  thoiu, 

Hho  timtod  hor  homl  to  MAyi  "  lt*M  di'oml  fully  «l«.rk, 
Aro  you  MUIV  you  OAII  MOO  P" 

Ho  Uu^hod  iHMitomptuouMlyt  "t  innild  #>  down 
this  OOW.M!.  with  nvy  oyoM  Mod!"  «nd  who  Imtghod  with 
hint,  AM  If  Mho  Ilkod  his  ii.iidn.oity.  NovoHholoMM  ho  Mfit 
Mtill  «  tnotnont,  Mtmlntng  II(M  oyoM  down  tho  long  hill, 
for  It  W&M  tho  inoMt  oonfn«lng  hour  of  tho  ovonlng,  tho 

I  iw  1 


ETHAN    FROME 

hour  when  the  last  clearness  from  the  upper  sky  is 
merged  with  the  rising  night  in  a  blur  that  disguises 
landmarks  and  falsifies  distances. 

"Now!"  he  cried. 

The  sled  started  with  a  bound,  and  they  flew  on 
through  the  dusk,  gathering  smoothness  and  speed 
as  they  went,  with  the  hollow  night  opening  out  be- 
low them  and  the  air  singing  by  like  an  organ.  Mattie 
sat  perfectly  still,  but  as  they  reached  the  bend  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  where  the  big  elm  thrust  out 
a  deadly  elbow,  he  fancied  that  she  shrank  a 
little  closer. 

"Don't  be  scared,  Matt!"  he  cried  exultantly,  as 
they  spun  safely  past  it  and  flew  down  the  second 
slope;  and  when  they  reached  the  level  ground  be- 
yond, and  the  speed  of  the  sled  began  to  slacken,  he 
heard  her  give  a  little  laugh  of  glee. 

They  sprang  off  and  started  to  walk  back  up  the 
hill.  Ethan  dragged  the  sled  with  one  hand  and 
passed  the  other  through  Mattie's  arm. 

"  Were  you  scared  I'd  run  you  into  the  elm  ?  "  he 
asked  with  a  boyish  laugh. 

[176] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"  I  told  you  I  was  never  scared  with  you,"  she  an- 
swered. 

The  strange  exaltation  of  his  mood  had  brought  on 
one  of  his  rare  fits  of  boastfulness.  "It  is  a  tricky 
place,  though.  The  least  swerve,  and  we'd  never  ha' 
come  up  again.  But  I  can  measure  distances  to  a 
hair's-breadth — always  could." 

She  murmured :  "  I  always  say  you've  got  the  surest 
eye  ...  " 

Deep  silence  had  fallen  with  the  starless  dusk,  and 
they  leaned  on  each  other  without  speaking;  but  at 
every  step  of  their  climb  Ethan  said  to  himself :  "  It's 
the  last  time  we'll  ever  walk  together." 

They  mounted  slowly  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  When 
they  were  abreast  of  the  church  he  stooped  his  head 
to  her  to  ask :  "  Are  you  tired  ?  "  and  she  answered, 
breathing  quickly :  "  It  was  splendid ! " 

With  a  pressure  of  his  arm  he  guided  her  tow- 
ard the  Norway  spruces.  "I  guess  this  sled  must 
be  Ned  Bale's.  Anyhow  I'll  leave  it  where  I  found 
it."  He  drew  the  sled  up  to  the  Varnum  gate 
and  rested  it  against  the  fence.  As  he  raised  him- 
[  177] 


ETHAN    FROME 

self  he  suddenly  felt  Mattie  close  to  him  among 
the  shadows. 

"  Is  this  where  Ned  and  Ruth  kissed  each  other  ?  " 
she  whispered  breathlessly,  and  flung  her  arms  about 
him.  Her  lips,  groping  for  his,  swept  over  his  face, 
and  he  held  her  fast  in  a  rapture  of  surprise. 

"Good-bye — good-bye,"  she  stammered,  and 
kissed  him  again. 

"  Oh,  Matt  I  can't  let  you  go! "  broke  from  him  in 
the  same  old  cry. 

She  freed  herself  from  his  hold  and  he  heard  her 
sobbing.  "  Oh,  I  can't  go  either! "  she  wailed. 

"  Matt!  What'll  we  do  ?  What'll  we  do  ? " 

They  clung  to  each  other's  hands  like  children, 
and  her  body  shook  with  desperate  sobs. 

Through  the  stillness  they  heard  the  church  clock 
striking  five. 

"Oh,  Ethan,  it's  time!"  she  cried. 

He  drew  her  back  to  him.  "  Time  for  what  ?  You 
don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  leave  you  now  ?  " 

"  If  I  missed  my  train  where'd  I  go  ?  " 

"  Where  are  you  going  if  you  catch  it  ?  " 
[178] 


ETHAN    FROME 

She  stood  silent,  her  hands  lying  cold  and  relaxed 
in  his. 

"  What's  the  good  of  either  of  us  going  anywheres 
without  the  other  one  now  ?  "  he  said. 

She  remained  motionless,  as  if  she  had  not  heard 
him.  Then  she  snatched  her  hands  from  his,  threw 
her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  pressed  a  sudden 
drenched  cheek  against  his  face.  "Ethan!  Ethan!  I 
want  you  to  take  me  down  again ! " 

"Down  where?" 

"The  coast.  Right  off,"  she  panted.  "So  't  we'll 
never  come  up  any  more." 

"  Matt!  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ? " 

She  put  her  lips  close  against  his  ear  to  say :  "  Right 
into  the  big  elm.  You  said  you  could.  So  't  we'd  never 
have  to  leave  each  other  any  more." 

"Why,  what  are  you  talking  of?  You're  crazy!" 

"  I'm  not  crazy;  but  I  will  be  if  I  leave  you." 

"Oh,  Matt,  Matt—"  he  groaned. 

She  tightened  her  fierce  hold  about  his  neck. 
Her  face  lay  close  to  his  face. 

"  Ethan,  where'll  I  go  if  I  leave  you  ?  I  don't  know 
[  179] 


ETHAN    FROME 

how  to  get  along  alone.  You  said  o  yourself  just  now. 
Nobody  but  you  was  ever  good  to  me.  And  there'll  be 
that  strange  girl  in  the  house  .  .  .  and  she'll  sleep  in 
my  bed,  where  I  used  to  lay  nights  and  listen  to  hear 
you  come  up  the  stairs.  .  . " 

The  words  were  like  fragments  torn  from  his 
heart.  With  them  came  the  hated  vision  of  the  house 
he  was  going  back  to — of  the  stairs  he  would  have  to 
go  up  every  night,  of  the  woman  who  would  wait  for 
him  there.  And  the  sweetness  of  Mattie's  avowal,  the 
wild  wonder  of  knowing  at  last  that  all  that  had  hap- 
pened to  him  had  happened  to  her  too,  made  the 
other  vision  more  abhorrent,  the  other  life  more  intol- 
erable to  return  to  ... 

Her  pleadings  still  came  to  him  between  short  sobs, 
but  he  no  longer  heard  what  she  was  saying.  Her  hat 
had  slipped  back  and  he  was  stroking  her  hair.  He 
wanted  to  get  the  feeling  of  it  into  his  hand,  so  that 
it  would  sleep  there  like  a  seed  in  winter.  Once  he 
found  her  mouth  again,  and  they  seemed  to  be  by  the 
pond  together  in  the  burning  August  sun.  But  his 
cheek  touched  hers,  and  it  was  cold  and  full  of  weep- 
[  180] 


ETHAN    FROME 

ing,  and  he  saw  the  road  to  the  Flats  under  the  night 
and  heard  the  whistle  of  the  train  up  the  line. 

The  spruces  swathed  them  in  blackness  and 
silence.  They  might  have  been  in  their  coffins  un- 
derground. He  said  to  himself:  "Perhaps  it'll  feel 
like  this  .  .  ."  and  then  again :  "  After  this  I  sha'n't 
feel  anything.  .  ." 

Suddenly  he  heard  the  old  sorrel  whinny  across 
the  road,  and  thought:  "He's  wondering  why  he 
doesn't  get  his  supper.  .  ." 

"  Come,"  Mattie  whispered,  tugging  at  his  hand. 

Her  sombre  violence  constrained  him :  she  seemed 
the  embodied  instrument  of  fate.  He  pulled  the  sled 
out,  blinking  like  a  night-bird  as  he  passed  from  the 
shade  of  the  spruces  into  the  transparent  dusk  of 
the  open.  The  slope  below  them  was  deserted.  All 
Starkfield  was  at  supper,  and  not  a  figure  crossed 
the  open  space  before  the  church.  The  sky,  swollen 
with  the  clouds  that  announce  a  thaw,  hung  as  low 
as  before  a  summer  storm.  He  strained  his  eyes 
through  the  dimness,  and  they  seemed  less  keen, 
less  capable  than  usual. 

[181] 


ETHAN    FROME 

He  took  his  seat  on  the  sled  and  Mattie  instantly 
placed  herself  in  front  of  him.  Her  hat  had  fallen 
into  the  snow  and  his  lips  were  in  her  hair.  He 
stretched  out  his  legs,  drove  his  heels  into  the  road  to 
keep  the  sled  from  slipping  forward,  and  bent  her 
head  back  between  his  hands.  Then  suddenly  he 
sprang  up  again. 

"  Get  up,"  he  ordered  her. 

It  was  the  tone  she  always  heeded,  but  she  cowered 
down  in  her  seat,  repeating  vehemently:  "No,  no, 
no!" 

"Get  up!" 

"Why?" 

"  I  want  to  sit  in  front." 

"  No,  no!  How  can  you  steer  in  front  ?" 

"I  don't  have  to.  We'll  follow  the  track." 

They  spoke  in  smothered  whispers,  as  though  the 
night  were  listening. 

"  Get  up!  Get  up!"  he  urged  her;  but  she  kept  on 
repeating:  "  Why  do  you  want  to  sit  in  front  ?  " 

"  Because  I — because  I  want  to  feel  you  holding 
me,"  he  stammered,  and  dragged  her  to  her  feet. 
[  182  ] 


ETHAN    FROME 

The  answer  seemed  to  satisfy  her,  or  else  she 
yielded  to  the  power  of  his  voice.  He  bent  down,  feel- 
ing in  the  obscurity  for  the  glassy  slide  worn  by  pre- 
ceding coasters,  and  placed  the  runners  carefully 
between  its  edges.  She  waited  while  he  seated  him- 
self with  crossed  legs  in  the  front  of  the  sled;  then 
she  crouched  quickly  down  at  his  back  and  clasped 
her  arms  about  him.  Her  breath  in  his  neck  set  him 
shuddering  again,  and  he  almost  sprang  from  his 
seat.  But  in  a  flash  he  remembered  the  alternative. 
She  was  right:  this  was  better  than  parting.  He 
leaned  back  and  drew  her  mouth  to  his.  .  . 

Just  as  they  started  he  heard  the  sorrel's  whinny 
again,  and  the  familiar  wistful  call,  and  all  the  con- 
fused images  it  brought  with  it,  went  with  him  down 
the  first  reach  of  the  road.  Half-way  down  there  was 
a  sudden  drop,  then  a  rise,  and  after  that  another 
long  delirious  descent.  As  they  took  wing  for  this  it 
seemed  to  him  that  they  were  flying  indeed,  flying 
far  up  into  the  cloudy  night,  with  Starkfield  immeas- 
urably below  them,  falling  away  like  a  speck  in 
space.  .  .  Then  the  big  elm  shot  up  ahead,  lying  in 
wait  for  them  at  the  bend  of  the  road,  and  he  said 
[  183  ] 


ETHAN    FROME 

between  his  teeth:  "  We  can  fetch  it;  I  know  we  can 

fetch  it " 

As  they  flew  toward  the  tree  Mattie  pressed  her 
arms  tighter,  and  her  blood  seemed  to  be  in  his  veins. 
Once  or  twice  the  sled  swerved  a  little  under  them. 
He  slanted  his  body  to  keep  it  headed  for  the  elm, 
repeating  to  himself  again  and  again:  "I  know  we 
can  fetch  it  " ;  and  little  phrases  she  had  spoken  ran 
through  his  head  and  danced  before  him  on  the  air. 
The  big  tree  loomed  bigger  and  closer,  and  as  they 
bore  down  on  it  he  thought :  "  It's  waiting  for  us :  it 
seems  to  know."  But  suddenly  his  wife's  face,  with 
twisted  monstrous  lineaments,  thrust  itself  between 
him  and  his  goal,  and  he  made  an  instinctive  move- 
ment to  brush  it  aside.  The  sled  swerved  in  response, 
but  he  righted  it  again,  kept  it  straight,  and  drove 
down  on  the  black  projecting  mass.  There  was  a  last 
instant  when  the  air  shot  past  him  like  millions  of 
fiery  wires ;  and  then  the  elm  .  .  . 

The  sky  was  still  thick,  but  looking  straight  up  he 
saw  a  single  star,  and  tried  vaguely  to  reckon  whether 
it  were  Sirius,  or — or —  The  effort  tired  him  too 
[184] 


ETHAN    FROME 

much,  and  he  closed  his  heavy  lids  and  thought  that 
he  would  sleep.  .  .  The  stillness  was  so  profound 
that  he  heard  a  little  animal  twittering  somewhere 
near  by  under  the  snow.  It  made  a  small  frightened 
cheep  like  a  field  mouse,  and  he  wondered  languidly 
if  it  were  hurt.  Then  he  understood  that  it  must  be 
in  pain :  pain  so  excruciating  that  he  seemed,  mysteri- 
ously, to  feel  it  shooting  through  his  own  body.  He 
tried  in  vain  to  roll  over  in  the  direction  of  the  sound, 
and  stretched  his  left  arm  out  across  the  snow.  And 
now  it  was  as  though  he  felt  rather  than  heard  the 
twittering;  it  seemed  to  be  und  r  his  palm,  which 
rested  on  something  soft  and  springy.  The  thought 
of  the  animal's  suffering  was  intolerable  to  him 
and  he  struggled  to  raise  himself,  and  could  not  be- 
cause a  rock,  or  some  huge  mass,  seemed  to  be  lying 
on  him.  But  he  continued  to  finger  about  cautiously 
with  his  left  hand,  thinking  he  might  get  hold  of  the 
little  creature  and  help  it;  and  all  at  once  he  knew 
that  the  soft  thing  he  had  touched  was  Mattie's  hair 
and  that  his  hand  was  on  her  face. 

He  dragged  himself  to  his  knees,  the  monstrous 
[185] 


ETHAN    FROME 

load  on  him  moving  with  him  as  he  moved,  and  his 
hand  went  over  and  over  her  face,  and  he  felt  that 
the  twittering  came  from  her  lips  .  .  . 

He  got  his  face  down  close  to  hers,  with  his  ear  to 
her  mouth,  and  in  the  darkness  he  saw  her  eyes  open 
and  heard  her  say  his  name. 

"  Oh,  Matt,  I  thought  we'd  fetched  it,"  he  moaned; 
and  far  off,  up  the  hill,  he  heard  the  sorrel  whinny, 
and  thought :  "  I  ought  to  be  getting  him  his  feed. . ." 


[186  ] 


THE  querulous  drone  ceased  as  I  entered 
Frome's  kitchen,  and  of  the  two  women  sit- 
ting there  I  could  not  tell  which  had  been  the  speaker. 

One  of  them,  on  my  appearing,  raised  her  tall 
bony  figure  from  her  seat,  not  as  if  to  welcome  me — 
for  she  threw  me  no  more  than  a  brief  glance  of  sur- 
prise— but  simply  to  set  about  preparing  the  meal 
which  Frome's  absence  had  delayed.  A  slatternly 
calico  wrapper  hung  from  her  shoulders  and  the 
wisps  of  her  thin  gray  hair  were  drawn  away  from  a 
high  forehead  and  fastened  at  the  back  by  a  broken 
comb.  She  had  pale  opaque  eyes  which  revealed 
nothing  and  reflected  nothing,  and  her  narrow  lips 
were  of  the  same  sallow  colour  as  her  face. 

The  other  woman  was  much  smaller  and  slighter. 
She  sat  huddled  in  an  arm-chair  near  the  stove,  and 
when  I  came  in  she  turned  her  head  quickly  toward 
me,  without  the  least  corresponding  movement  of 
her  body.  Her  hair  was  as  gray  as  her  companion's, 
[  187] 


ETHAN    FROME 

her  face  as  bloodless  and  shrivelled,  but  amber- 
tinted,  with  swarthy  shadows  sharpening  the  nose 
and  hollowing  the  temples.  Under  her  shapeless 
dress  her  body  kept  its  limp  immobility,  and  her  dark 
eyes  had  the  bright  witch-like  stare  that  disease  of 
the  spine  sometimes  gives. 

Even  for  that  part  of  the  country  the  kitchen  was 
a  poor-looking  place.  With  the  exception  of  the  dark- 
eyed  woman's  chair,  which  looked  like  a  soiled  relic 
of  luxury  bought  at  a  country  auction,  the  furniture 
was  of  the  roughest  kind.  Three  coarse  china  plates 
and  a  broken-nosed  milk-jug  had  been  set  on  a 
greasy  table  scored  with  knife-cuts,  and  a  couple  of 
straw-bottomed  chairs  and  a  kitchen  dresser  of  un- 
painted  pine  stood  meagrely  against  the  plaster  walls. 

"My,  it's  cold  here!  The  fire  must  be  'most  out," 
Frome  said,  glancing  about  him  apologetically  as  he 
followed  me  in. 

The  tall  woman,  who  had  moved  away  from  us 

toward  the  dresser,  took  no  notice;  but  the  other, 

from  her  cushioned  niche,  answered  complainingly, 

in  a  high  thin  voice:  "It's  on'y  just  been  made  up 

[  188] 


ETHAN    FROME 

this  very  minute.  Zeena  fell  asleep  and  slep5  ever 
so  long,  and  I  thought  I'd  be  frozen  stiff  before  I 
could  wake  her  up  and  get  her  to  'tend  to  it." 

I  knew  then  that  it  was  she  who  had  been  speaking 
when  we  entered. 

Her  companion,  who  was  just  coming  back  to  the 
table  with  the  remains  of  a  cold  mince-pie  in  a  bat- 
tered pie-dish,  set  down  her  unappetising  burden 
without  appearing  to  hear  the  accusation  brought 
against  her. 

Frome  stood  hesitatingly  before  her  as  she  ad- 
vanced ;  then  he  looked  at  me  and  said :  "  This  is  my 
wife,  Mis5  Frome."  After  another  interval  he  added, 
turning  toward  the  figure  in  the  arm-chair:  "And 
this  is  Miss  Mattie  Silver.  .  ." 

Mrs.  Hale,  tender  soul,  had  pictured  me  as  lost 
in  the  Flats  and  buried  under  a  snow-drift;  and  so 
lively  was  her  satisfaction  on  seeing  me  safely  re- 
stored to  her  the  next  morning  that  I  felt  my  peril 
had  caused  me  to  advance  several  degrees  in  her 
favour. 

[  189] 


ETHAN    FROME 

Great  was  her  amazement,  and  that  of  old  Mrs. 
Varnum,  on  learning  that  Ethan  Frome's  old  horse 
had  carried  me  to  and  from  Corbury  Junction 
through  the  worst  blizzard  of  the  winter;  greater 
still  their  surprise  when  they  heard  that  his  master 
had  taken  me  in  for  the  night. 

Beneath  their  wondering  exclamations  I  felt  a 
secret  curiosity  to  know  what  impressions  I  had  re- 
ceived from  my  night  in  the  Frome  household,  and 
divined  that  the  best  way  of  breaking  down  their 
reserve  was  to  let  them  try  to  penetrate  mine.  I  there- 
fore confined  myself  to  saying,  in  a  matter-of-fact 
tone,  that  I  had  been  received  with  great  kindness, 
and  that  Frome  had  made  a  bed  for  me  in  a  room  on 
the  ground-floor  which  seemed  in  happier  days  to 
have  been  fitted  up  as  a  kind  of  writing-room  or 
study. 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Hale  mused,  "in  such  a  storm  I 
suppose  he  felt  he  couldn't  do  less  than  take  you  in — 
but  I  guess  it  went  hard  with  Ethan.  I  don't  believe 
but  what  you're  the  only  stranger  has  set  foot  in  that 
house  for  over  twenty  years.  He's  that  proud  he 
[  190  ] 


ETHAN    FROME 

don't  even  like  his  oldest  friends  to  go  there;  and  I 
don't  know  as  any  do,  any  more,  except  myself  and 
the  doctor.  .  ." 

"  You  still  go  there,  Mrs.  Hale  ?  "  I  ventured. 

"  I  used  to  go  a  good  deal  after  the  accident,  when 
I  was  first  married ;  but  after  awhile  I  got  to  think  it 
made  'em  feel  worse  to  see  us.  And  then  one  thing 
and  another  came,  and  my  own  troubles  .  .  .  But  I 
generally  make  out  to  drive  over  there  round  about 
New  Year's,  and  once  in  the  summer.  Only  I 
always  try  to  pick  a  day  when  Ethan's  off  some- 
wheres.  It's  bad  enough  to  see  the  two  women 
sitting  there — but  his  face,  when  he  looks  round 
that  bare  place,  just  kills  me  .  .  .  You  see,  I  can 
look  back  and  call  it  up  in  his  mother's  day,  before 
their  troubles." 

Old  Mrs.  Varnum,  by  this  time,  had  gone  up  to 
bed,  and  her  daughter  and  I  were  sitting  alone,  after 
supper,  in  the  austere  seclusion  of  the  horse-hair 
parlour.  Mrs.  Hale  glanced  at  me  tentatively,  as 
though  trying  to  see  how  much  footing  my  conjec- 
tures gave  her;  and  I  guessed  that  if  she  had  kept 
[  191  ] 


ETHAN    FROME 

silence  till  now  it  was  because  she  had  been  waiting, 
through  all  the  years,  for  some  one  who  should  see 
what  she  alone  had  seen. 

I  waited  to  let  her  trust  in  me  gather  strength  be- 
fore I  said :  "  Yes,  it's  pretty  bad,  seeing  all  three  of 
them  there  together." 

She  drew  her  mild  brows  into  a  frown  of  pain.  "  It 
was  just  awful  from  the  beginning.  I  was  here  in  the 
house  when  they  were  carried  up — they  laid  Mattie 
Silver  in  the  room  you're  in.  She  and  I  were  great 
friends,  and  she  was  to  have  been  my  brides-maid 
in  the  spring  .  .  .  When  she  came  to  I  went  up  to 
her  and  stayed  all  night.  They  gave  her  things 
to  quiet  her,  and  she  didn't  know  much  till  to'rd 
morning,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden  she  woke  up 
just  like  herself,  and  looked  straight  at  me  out 
of  her  big  eyes,  and  said  .  .  .  Oh,  I  don't  know 
why  I'm  telling  you  all  this,"  Mrs.  Hale  broke  off, 
crying. 

She  took  off  her  spectacles,  wiped  the  moisture 
from  them,  and  put  them  on  again  with  an  unsteady 
hand.  "It  got  about  the  next  day,"  she  went  on, 
f  192] 


ETHAN    FROME 

"that  Zeena  Frome  had  sent  Mattie  off  in  a  hurry 
because  she  had  a  hired  girl  coming,  and  the  folks 
here  could  never  rightly  tell  what  she  and  Ethan 
were  doing  that  night  coasting,  when  they'd  ought 
to  have  been  on  their  way  to  the  Flats  to  ketch 
the  train  ...  I  never  knew  myself  what  Zeena 
thought — I  don't  to  this  day.  Nobody  knows  Zeena's 
thoughts.  Anyhow,  when  she  heard  o*  the  accident 
she  came  right  in  and  stayed  with  Ethan  over  to  the 
minister's,  where  they'd  carried  him.  And  as  soon  as 
the  doctors  said  that  Mattie  could  be  moved,  Zeena 
sent  for  her  and  took  her  back  to  the  farm." 

"  And  there  she's  been  ever  since  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hale  answered  simply:  "There  was  no- 
where else  f o  her  to  go ; "  and  my  heart  tightened  at 
the  thought  of  the  hard  compulsions  of  the  poor. 

"Yes,  there  she's  been,"  Mrs.  Hale  continued, 
"  and  Zeena's  done  for  her,  and  done  for  Ethan,  as 
good  as  she  could.  It  was  a  miracle,  con  idering  how 
sick  she  was — but  she  seemed  to  be  raised  right  up  just 
when  the  call  came  to  her.  Not  as  she's  ever  given  up 
doctoring,  and  she's  had  sick  spells  right  along ;  but 
[193] 


ETHAN    FROME 

she's  had  the  strength  given  her  to  care  for  those  two 
for  over  twenty  years,  and  before  the  accident  came 
she  thought  she  couldn't  even  care  for  herself." 

Mrs.  Hale  paused  a  moment,  and  I  remained 
silent,  plunged  in  the  vision  of  what  her  words 
evoked.  "It's  horrible  for  them  all,"  I  murmured. 

"Yes:  it's  pretty  bad.  And  they  ain't  any  of  'em 
easy  people  either.  Mattie  was,  before  the  accident; 
I  never  knew  a  sweeter  nature.  But  she's  suffered 
too  much — that's  what  I  always  say  when  folks  tell 
me  how  she's  soured.  And  Zeena,  she  was  always 
cranky.  Not  but  what  she  bears  with  Mattie  wonder- 
ful— I've  seen  that  myself.  But  sometimes  the  two  of 
them  get  going  at  each  other,  and  then  Ethan's  face'd 
break  your  heart  .  .  .  When  I  see  that,  I  think  it's 
him  that  suffers  most  .  .  .  anyhow  it  ain't  Zeena, 
because  she  ain't  got  the  time  .  .  .  It's  a  pity, 
though,"  Mrs.  Hale  ended,  sighing,  "that  they're 
all  shut  up  there'n  that  one  kitchen.  In  the  sum- 
mertime, on  pleasant  days,  they  move  Mattie  into 
the  parlour,  or  out  in  the  door-yard,  and  that 
makes  it  easier  .  .  .  but  winters  there's  the  fires  to 
[  194] 


ETHAN    FROME 

be  thought  of;  and  there  ain't  a  dime  to  spare  up  at 
the  Fromes.'  " 

Mrs.  Hale  drew  a  deep  breath,  as  though  her 
memory  were  eased  of  its  long  burden,  and  she  had 
no  more  to  say ;  but  suddenly  an  impulse  of  complete 
avowal  seized  her. 

She  took  off  her  spectacles  again,  leaned  toward 
me  across  the  bead-work  table-cover,  and  went  on 
with  lowered  voice:  "There  was  one  day,  about  a 
week  after  the  accident,  when  they  all  thought  Mat- 
tie  couldn't  live.  Well,  I  say  it's  a  pity  she  did.  I  said 
it  right  out  to  our  minister  once,  and  he  was  shocked 
at  me.  Only  he  wasn't  with  me  that  morning  when 
she  first  came  to  ...  And  I  say,  if  she'd  ha'  died, 
Ethan  might  ha'  lived;  and  the  way  they  are  now, 
I  don't  see's  there's  much  difference  between  the 
Fromes  up  at  the  farm  and  the  Fromes  down  in  the 
graveyard;  'cept  that  down  there  they're  all  quiet, 
and  the  women  have  got  to  hold  their  tongues." 


[  195  ] 


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56 


